


The Vanished

by CosmicallyLyss



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Drinking, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, How Do I Tag, Human Experimentation, Internalized Homophobia, Kang Yeosang is a badass, Kidnapping, M/M, Markings, Minor Character Death, Minor Minsung, Park Seonghwa is bad at feelings, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, as in it's explained in the story, but the over arching relationship is seongsang, death-centric, i hope i don't scare people away, not between the main characters tho, not for the fainthearted, the everyone/everyone is because i ship ot8, this is an extremely dark fic please watch out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 07:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17555687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicallyLyss/pseuds/CosmicallyLyss
Summary: There was never supposed to be prejudice based on marks, but it was unavoidable. Friendships depended on the color and number your wrist bore. Relationships rarely bloomed between members of the population with a stark difference in number. People were locked in stereotypes, regardless of the way they acted.Some loved the mark system, and said it provided them with a sense of clarity. They would be able to complete everything in their life they wanted to without worrying about possible death. But others despised the system. Those were almost always from the low numbered people with little time left on earth. They were most often the ones that tried to scam the system, add false years to their short life. It never worked.In other words, Seonghwa has it all. Wealthy and handsome with a long life-span. Everything he does, he appears to take for granted. But as the Void kidnappings grow more and more frequent - and he gets involved with the abductions - he realizes that life is never something that should be considered trivial.How much time do the Vanished truly have left? What are they without their marks?





	1. Give 'Em Hell, Kid

**Author's Note:**

> This! Is! A! Super! Dark! Fic!!! Seriously, guys, I don't want anyone to be uncomfortable while reading this, so make sure you check the tags. This is the first dark/full-length fic I'm writing for the ATEEZ tag, and this fic is like,, idk my true writing style? So it's gonna get dark and intense. It doesn't really happen in this chapter, but the next chapters will get there. Also, all the chapter titles are gonna be MCR songs because I'm an uncreative emo.
> 
> Anyway, if I didn't scare you off, yay!! I really hope you enjoy this

Life. It was a precious thing. Precious and calculated. Whenever a person was born, they’d already be marked. And these marks, they dictated the fate of someone’s life. Well, not everything. It could only predict the ending of it. The longevity of a person’s life, the cause of their death, it was printed on their wrist when they came into the world. There was no escaping the fate. If one tried to tattoo over their mark, it would bleed right through the fresh ink. If one tried to cut away the skin the mark was printed on, it would just show up on another part of the body.

 

There was never supposed to be prejudice based on marks, but it was unavoidable. Friendships depended on the color and number your wrist bore. Relationships rarely bloomed between members of the population with a stark difference in number. People were locked in stereotypes, regardless of the way they acted.

 

And how exactly did these life-determining marks work? The number one was born with dictated the years left in that person’s life. Every day on their birthday, the mark would shift, decrease by one. When the number reached zero, it was inevitable that the person would die sometime in that year before their next birthday. And what did the colors have to do with the marks? They represented the cause of someone’s death. Every color was assigned to a general category. Red for an illness or medical complications. Yellow for old age and natural causes. Green for an accidental death, be it self-inflicted or otherwise. Blue for suicide - always intentional. Purple for murder victims, anyone that died - on purpose - at the hands of others.

 

Some loved the mark system, and said it provided them with a sense of clarity. They would be able to complete everything in their life they wanted to without worrying about possible death. But others despised the system. Those were almost always from the low numbered people with little time left on earth. They were most often the ones that tried to scam the system, add false years to their short life. It never worked.

 

Park Seonghwa, however, never had that issue. He was born with a yellow eighty-seven, destined to live a long life and have a peaceful death. He was twenty-three now, a university student studying acting. Between his number and color, his popularity had sky-rocketed as he got older. He was wealthy, handsome, talented… Most of all, he was a heartbreaker. And he knew it. To most of the students at Chung-Ang University, Seonghwa was the pinnacle of “untouchable”. The aspiring actor had it all, but was closed off to everyone except for those he loved, and those he hated. Out of his three closest friends, two of them were Yellows with a high number. Just like him. The other kid was a Red, only in Seonghwa’s inner circle from his relation to Seonghwa’s best friend.

 

Although the four didn’t acknowledge the fact that they ruled over the school, making other students fawn over them, they knew they had that kind of power. Kim Dahyun, the only girl in the tight-knit group of four, was in the vocal and rap program at the university. After completing a few years of basic training, she was dead-set on making it as an idol. Lee Minho, Seonghwa’s best friend, accepted into Chung-Ang’s elite dance troupe. The young boy just had a certain charisma about him when he was on stage, his skill giving him a full scholarship to the university. Then there was the Red; Han Jisung, Minho’s long-time boyfriend. The boy was a year younger than the other three, but asserted himself quickly. He was studying in creative writing, but had a penchant for writing lyrics, which he often used in the underground rap trio he was a part of. And finally, the leader of the pack, Park Seonghwa. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t overly loud or obnoxious. In fact, the actor was the quietest among the four, content to sit back and watch life go on. If anything, his biggest downside was his pride. In his mind, he could do anything. Take as many risks as he wanted, do anything he pleased. His color and his number gave him that right, didn’t it?

 

Everyone else glossed over the boy’s slight arrogance, though, focusing instead on his talent and appearance. Shallow, but that was human nature. Personality didn’t matter, if a person were beautiful - if their mark was fortunate - they were a good person. In Seonghwa’s life, he got to do everything with no consequence. His graces allowed for him to do as he pleased, without ever getting cut down to size. There had only ever been one instance where someone called Seonghwa out for his less than stellar talk. At a school-wide party at the beginning of the semester, Seonghwa - more than a bit drunk - had been talking to a group of people about how anyone that was a Blue was just a “depressed loner”.

 

Gifted photographer Kang Yeosang had shown up at this party, and where Seonghwa was prosperous, popular with everyone, the quintessence of what a lucky mark was, Yeosang was the opposite. He was a Blue, the number on his wrist being a small five. His self-destructive fate had been predetermined, but the color seemed unnatural for the boy. Yeosang radiated happiness and light, expressing only the most poetic of things through the photos he took. Seonghwa and his crew were popular with the singers, dancers, actors, models, and writers, sure. But Yeosang was popular in his own right, well-known among the artists - painters, photographers, sculptors, and any other art form - as being the kind of person that could always bring a smile to people’s faces. And when Seonghwa had stated that any and all Blues were depressed loners, Yeosang had been there, and couldn’t stop himself from lashing out at the year-older boy. All his life, Yeosang had dealt with people asking him about his depression - which he didn’t have - and his history with cutting - which he had never done - and if he’d attempted to end his life before with the knowledge that it wouldn’t succeed - also something he had never done.

 

And even though the almighty king of the school had said something, that meant nothing to Yeosang. He was sick of the stereotypes, sick of the prejudice. He’d had enough and he made that well-known. He marched over to the black haired boy, spurred on by cheers of his name from his friends, Blues mainly. Yeosang dragged him over to a secluded area, despite any protests that he was making. Besides, the boy was so trashed he probably didn’t know what was going on. Still, it didn’t stop Yeosang from shoving Seonghwa against the wall of the university’s banquet hall and hiss “Don’t you dare try to talk about Blues. You know nothing about them--” Yeosang stiffened. No, the Blues weren’t a  _ them  _ to him, they were an  _ us _ , which Yeosang never had a problem with. “You know nothing about us. I know Mr. High-And-Mighty couldn’t possibly fathom a life where you aren’t worshipped, but for those that aren’t Yellows don’t have it as easy as you do. So before the next time you shit-talk an entire group of people, maybe try realizing that you’ve got a life-span that beats theirs five times over, maybe less, maybe more.” He had glanced down at Seonghwa’s wrist, seeing the sixty-four against his skin. Yeosang’s jaw had tightened. This idiot had almost thirteen times the amount of years Yeosang had left.

 

All that the older boy could manage to say through his drunken haze was “S’just what I’ve seen, man. Now could you back up? I kinda got this image I need to protect, yeah? I’m the ladies man, completely straight. Cool?” Yeosang’s eyes rolled so far back in his head he was sure he could see the inside of his skull. Of course. Seonghwa needed to protect his heterosexuality, because the popular boy couldn’t be anything but straight. Yeosang pulled back for a moment, just to study the boy’s features. A strong profile, sharp jawline… If he weren’t so much of an ass, Yeosang might think about kissing him. Just to shut him up, make him realize there were people with more power than him. But Yeosang quickly shoved those thoughts out of his head, walking away from Seonghwa without another word.

 

Seonghwa barely remembered any of that night. He was pretty sure he’d made out with a few girls, but there was one face he couldn’t get out of his head for some reason. And it wasn’t just a face, no, it was eyes. A piercing glare, left eye framed with a birthmark. Probably the most beautiful eyes Seonghwa had ever seen, but he had no idea who they belonged to. Months later, the question of “whose eyes were they?” died out, and Seonghwa went back to his normal self, cracking jokes with his friends. Currently, he was laying down on his bed in his dorm he shared with Minho, scrolling mindlessly trough all the feeds of his social media accounts. Dahyun, although she wasn’t allowed on the boys’ side of the dorm, was sprawled out across Minho’s bed, earbuds in. Minho rarely tolerated when someone other than him or Jisung were on his bed, but he wasn’t here to object. Jisung had come down with a fever, and Minho had started freaking out, taking him immediately to the doctor. His reaction might have seemed overdramatic to some people, but both Seonghwa and Dahyun could understand where he was coming from. Minho was devoted to Jisung; he would wrangle the moon and bring it to earth if Jisung asked.

 

And Jisung was a Red. Illness of some sort would be his downfall. And although Jisung’s number was a decent thirty-seven, Minho would be terrified for his love’s life at the first sign of even a cold. So the two boys were at the doctor’s office, Minho anxiously awaiting some kind of verdict while Jisung held his hand and reassured him that it was just a small fever and it wouldn’t kill him.

 

Suddenly, Dahyun gasped, shooting up from her sideways position on Minho’s bed. Her phone crashed against the floor, the earbuds being ripped from her ears as a result of being connected to the phone. “Seonghwa-oppa.” Her voice was tight, she sounded almost nervous. “Look at me, idiot, this is important.”

 

Seonghwa mumbled something, putting his phone down as he sat up to face Dahyun. “I’ve already told you years ago that you don’t need to use honorifics with me, Dahyunnie. We’ve been friends for how many years now? Fifteen? But still, what’s up?”

 

Dahyun bent over to pick her phone up, thrusting it in Seonghwa’s face. “The Void. He took someone else. Seonghwa, he’s got six kids. And they’re all from here. Six boys, all from Chung-Ang. It doesn’t look like he’s stopping, and it seems as if he’s keeping the same pattern. And… Dammit, Seonghwa, I’m terrified for you, Minho, and Jisung.” Her face was solemn as she glanced at Seonghwa, watching him read the article she had pulled up.

 

“Six kids… It says they really don’t have any sort of connection, except for the fact that they were all in one class another kid had.” Seonghwa shuddered. The Void, whoever he was, had been abducting kids from Chung-Ang University since this school year began. The first was a kid named Jeong Yunho, he had been in the dance troupe with Minho. Minho wasn’t exactly best friends with the kid, but he still took the loss pretty hard. Everyone in the dance troupe was taken aback, but still believed that their partner was alive. But when another boy - Jung Wooyoung - had been abducted about a month after, they started to lose hope quickly. Three more kids had been taken in the next few weeks, the frequency of the kidnapping increasing each time. Two kids named Song Mingi and Kim Hongjoong had disappeared within three weeks of each other. Jisung had heard of the both of them through association from Chan and Changbin, the other members of his rap group. Apparently the two missing boys were both music producers, just like Chan and Changbin. The next kid was taken two weeks later, who Dahyun knew, even worked with in classes before. A kid named Choi San, who according to Dahyun was one of the sweetest people she knew. And now, just eight days later, another kid was reported by the police as missing. Choi Jongho. “You know him, don’t you?” Seonghwa softly asked Dahyun. “The newest kid?”

 

“Jongho.” The way Dahyun said his name made the sentence an agreement. Yes, she knew him. “Seonghwa, I knew this feeling was hard for Minho when the Yunho and Wooyoung kids went missing, but he only knew them a little bit. I’m friends with San, I helped Jongho get accustomed to college life… Seonghwa, what if-” Her breath hitched, and she tried to blink back tears. “What if they’re dead? What if they’re dead and the police have done nothing except report missing people? It’s been like three months since the kidnapping started, since The Void started whatever the hell he’s starting. And nothing has been figured out. We know nothing. Nothing except the fact that they’re gone. But… They can’t be dead. They can’t be!” A sudden smile broke out on Dahyun’s face as she grabbed her phone back, scrolling further down the article. “Their friends and family reported their marking statuses. Jeong Yunho, Red, thirty. Jung Wooyoung, Purple, twenty. Kim Hongjoong, Purple, thirty-seven. Song Mingi, Red, nine. Choi San, Green, forty-eight. Choi Jongho, Green, eighteen. Seonghwa, they’re out there.”

 

“He hasn’t gone for Blues or Yellows. Why?” Seonghwa frowned, brow creasing as he tried to think of answers of his own. “He’s got two Reds, two Purples, two Greens. But he hasn’t gone near a Blue or Yellow.”

 

“I don’t have an answer to that, but I think Jisung is gonna be safe. Next to the last place Jongho was spotted - the park right off campus - there was a single green mark on the bench his family has said was his favorite. What if that means there’s only one more he’ll be taking, and they’re a Green. That means Jisung is safe.”

 

“Dahyunnie, I don’t think we can try and sleuth all this out. This is something I think that’ll be best left to the police. We’re just college students that happen to know some of these kids. Besides, even if - God forbid - Jisung was taken, Minho would single-handedly find The Void and kill him for everyone to see.”

 

It must have been a speak-of-the-devil moment, because as soon as Seonghwa had finished talking, the door burst open to reveal Minho and Jisung. “You’re on my bed.” Minho said, matter-of-factly.

 

“Babe, be nice.” Jisung chastised. He stepped forwards slightly into the room. “Doctor said it’s just a fever, that I’ll be able to sweat it out. I just gotta get some rest. Anyway, Dahyun-noona, what’s wrong? You’re sad.”

 

“Damn, Jisungie, you’re good at picking up on feelings.” Dahyun smiled softly, but her grin was quickly replaced by a frown as she relayed all the latest information. “Another kid got taken. Someone I’m not super close to, but he’s a great friend. The youngest off all the kids that got taken. It’s just…” She sighed. “When will this be over?”

 

Minho walked over to Dahyun with Jisung in tow. “They’re gonna be found. Don’t worry about it, okay? I know it doesn’t seem like hope will do much of anything, but it makes such a difference. If I didn’t have hope, I’d probably believe that Yunho and Wooyoung are never coming back. But those two are fighters. They’ll be back before everyone thinks, and the same goes for your friend.”

 

“Thanks…” Dahyun looked up at Minho gratefully. She began to pull herself off the bed, but Minho stopped her.

 

“You don’t have to get up. Besides, I’m not gonna be spending the night here. I’m going back to Jisungie’s dorm, taking care of him if he needs.” Minho said, Jisung shaking his head behind him. The younger of the two mouthed ‘He really doesn’t understand that I’m fine’, causing Seonghwa and Dahyun to start laughing. “What?” Minho questioned. “I’m a good boyfriend, what’s so funny?”

 

Part of Seonghwa’s skills as an actor made him great in improvisation, thankfully. “It’s just that Jisung needs rest to get over the little fever. And he doesn’t have a roommate, which means it’ll just be you two in there. Jisung plus Minho plus a night alone equals the exact opposite of resting.” The room had erupted into laughter, Jisung’s face flushing, and not just from the fever.

 

Dahyun decided to join in on the teasing, muttering “He’s supposed to sweat out the fever, I’m sure that from a few hours with Minho he’ll be good.”

 

“If you guys weren’t my favorite people,” Minho said, looking at the three giggling faces before him, “I would hate you all. So much.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, we love you, too.” Seonghwa grinned. “Anyway, once Jisung gets better, how about we hit up the movies? I feel like I haven’t been in forever, and I miss hanging out with you guys at places that aren’t parties where we all get too trashed to think straight. What do you say?”

 

Jisung and Minho said their agreements while Dahyun said, “Where did sappy Seonghwa come from? Is this your reaction to another kid being taken? Does our big baddie finally realize he’s a huge softie that can show emotion?”

 

“Oh, shut up,” He retorted, words laced with playfulness. “I just wanna appreciate your friendship for what it’s worth. Which is a lot.”

 

It took two days for Jisung to get better. After his fever broke, Minho was practically glowing from all the happiness he appeared to be exuding. It was decided upon that Jisung would pick the movie they’d go to see; two days of bedrest made him restless and itching for something to do. His choice had been some action flick that Seonghwa couldn’t remember the name of for the life of him. He was more focused on the cost of the movie tickets, which he was responsible for paying for. It had been decided that Seonghwa would pay for the tickets, Dahyun for the transportation, and Minho for the dessert afterwards. Jisung had offered to pay for everything, but the three older kids wouldn’t let him. They never admitted it, but they all babied Jisung at times, usually after he got over a small sickness - much to the boy’s chagrin, because according to him, “I’m an adult, I have money, I can pay for this. Besides, when you guys get sick you’re never treated like me.”

 

The somewhat annoyed boy in question was standing on the edge of the university’s campus with Minho, waiting for Dahyun and Seonghwa to come out. “Hyung?” Jisung’s voice was much quieter than usual. “I can’t help but feel like something’s off. I don’t know what it is, but something isn’t right, not at all.”

 

“What do you mean? Are you still feeling sick, baby? We don’t need to go out if you aren’t feeling well.” Minho’s brow creased in worry, one of his hands grabbing Jisung’s.

 

“No, I feel fine. I don’t know what it is, but something just isn’t right. Something’s gonna happen today, and it won’t be anything good.” The young boy’s face was expressionless, and his eyes seemed to be focused elsewhere, maybe on something invisible to everyone but him.

 

Minho couldn’t think of a good response, and only mumbled a quick “Everything’ll be fine, Sungie.” as Seonghwa and Dahyun ran out of the dorm building hand in hand.

 

“Who’s ready?” Dahyun asked excitedly, bouncing on her heels. “I’m way more excited than I should be. Probably because I get to spend time with you losers instead of doing biology homework.”

 

The entire bus ride, Minho, Dahyun, and Seonghwa were having an animated conversation, talking about anything that came to mind. But Jisung seemed more reserved than anything, a frown looking plastered on his face, deep in thought. He glanced out the window, watching the buildings pass by. “Jisungie? Jisung? Jisung, hello?” Minho’s voice shocked Jisung out of his self-induced trance, and he turned towards the older boy, mumbling a soft “Yeah?”

 

“Baby, you seem really out of it. Do you wanna go back home? I-” Minho paused. “All three of us want what’s best for you, and if that’s an extra day of rest, we’re more than willing to make that happen.”

 

“Ah, no, I swear I’m okay. I guess I’m a little tired, y’know?” He protested as he was pulled into Minho’s lap, but was mollified when the older boy snuck a kiss against his cheek.

 

When the movie went well, and everything was alright, Jisung had started to relax. Maybe his danger sensors needed to be fixed; the worst thing that had happened all day was Seonghwa getting a small bit of ice cream in his hair, which Dahyun had only cleaned off after snapping a picture. It was on the bus ride back home when his suspicions had come to fruition. The moon was out, the town was quiet, and after checking his phone, Jisung realized it was now past midnight. In the past two days, Dahyun had been investigating everything related to Void and his kidnappings, desperate to get some leads on the missing boys. She gasped loudly, her phone clattering to the bus floor. Seonghwa frowned and picked it up. After reading the newest article’s headline, his jaw dropped. The moon’s angle had just changed, making the shadows on both of their faces deeper. “The Void Takes Another Chung-Ang Student,” Seonghwa said, his tone monotonous. “His First Blue: Kang Yeosang.”

 

Something about this disappearance felt all too wrong to Seonghwa. Just two days after the Jongho boy had been taken, another kid - Yeosang, apparently - was gone. He knew that name from somewhere. Somehow. Even though he had no Blues as friends, something about that name made a flash of heat spike along Seonghwa’s back. He looked through the article, unable to gather much information. He was twenty-two, with a blue five as his mark. There were no pictures of him, it was only listed that he studied photography at Chung-Ang.

 

“Do you know him?” Seonghwa asked. “Know anyone that knows him?” The three others shook their heads; their extent of friends stayed more on the performing side of Performing Arts. The back of Seonghwa’s mind was taunting him with empty thoughts of “you know this boy” and “you’ve got more of a connection than you’d like to admit”.

 

“That’s the bad thing, guys.” Jisung looked out at them all, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I knew something bad was going to happen today, just not when… Or  _ what _ .”

 

Seonghwa didn’t know who the hell this kid was, but something about this particular disappearance made his heart go out to the poor kid. Maybe it was reading that his mark’s number was a measly five, and his own number trumped the Yeosang kid’s by over ten times that. That thought… That thought in particular made Seonghwa stiffen in the small bus seat.  _ You’ve got a life-span that beats theirs five times over, maybe less, maybe more.  _ Seonghwa’s frown turned into a scowl. Where had he heard that before? Why was the mention of this kid’s name bringing up phantom memories? His own mind was teasing him, playing tricks on him and making him think that he knew this kid. Damn, he just needed a drink.

 

It was probably a bad coping method, downing a beer or taking a few jello shots if he wanted to take the edge off of his stress, but he could be doing things that were way worse. At least he wasn’t the type of kid that shot himself up with heroin every weekend. But the alcohol worked to calm Seonghwa down. Drunk, his head was hazy. Things didn’t matter. Colors blended together, and there was no difference between a Blue, Red, Yellow, Green, or Purple. There was some sort of saying about drunk actions and sober thoughts, but Seonghwa was too shaken up about the recent disappearance to try and remember correctly what it was. Regardless, he was pretty sure that saying lined up with him. No, every prejudiced and small-minded thing he said about the different marks wasn’t what he truly believed. It was just stuff he’d say because he wanted people to listen to him. It was only Minho, Dahyun, and Jisung that knew the real Seonghwa. The one behind the cocky statements, narcissistic outlook, and arrogant outbursts.

 

They knew who Seonghwa really was. They knew what he’d been through. Everything from his mother’s sickness to his sister’s abandonment to his reasons for running away from home. They knew that his acting wasn’t just for school, no, it was a skill he had perfected for years. Nothing was wrong. He would smile, and he would say shitty things to make himself noticed, and he’d hook up with girl upon girl to hide-- to hide something Seonghwa wouldn’t even consider thinking about. Seonghwa needed to be the perfect person. People wouldn’t care if it was something faked; perfection was always valued over purity.

 

“Let’s just try forgetting about this.” It was one of Seonghwa’s main defense mechanisms. If he didn’t acknowledge a problem, it wasn’t there. “Yeah, it sucks, but we should be glad that it doesn’t directly affect us, right? Minho. Tomorrow - well, tonight, technically - your friend’s having a party, right? Let’s go to it. Stop focusing on all these disappearances.” Seonghwa’s heart was pounding, and for reasons he couldn’t place. The newest kid’s name - Yeosang - kept repeating like a chant in his head, images of flashing party lights and the stench of alcohol filling his senses. “Dahyun, you’ve been slaving away at trying to figure this whole thing out. Let tomorrow be your break.” Seonghwa looked at all three of them, desperately.

 

And Seonghwa needed to really thank the heavens up above for the three young adults, for the fact that they knew him so well. They knew Seonghwa better than he knew himself, and they always had his best interests at heart. “We can go,” Minho said, a grateful smile breaking out on Seonghwa’s face. “But I’m telling Hyunjinnie that you can’t have any drinks.”

 

“Water only, Seonghwa.” Dahyun seconded.

 

Disappointment was clear in Seonghwa’s eyes, but it started to fade when Jisung put his hand on the older boy’s shoulder and leaned across the aisle. “Hyung,” He whispered. “We can all see how affected you are by this. Do we know why? No. Do you? Maybe, and if so, that’s your information unless you want to tell us, too. But nevermind all that, none of us are letting you drink until you nearly die. We love you, okay? And we aren’t going to let you do stupid shit.”

 

“Understood, Jisungie.” A half-smile flashed across Seonghwa’s face for a brief moment. “I love you guys, too.” Seonghwa was trying to focus on all the positives, to get the thoughts of all the kidnapped boys out of his head. But all of it - the names, the colors, they ran rampant inside his mind.

 

Yunho, Wooyoung, Hongjoong, Mingi, San, Jongho, and now Yeosang. Dahyun had been wrong. The last kid wasn’t a Green. Void, whoever he was, had taken a Blue. Seonghwa, as much as he tried, couldn’t prevent the wheels from spinning in his head. One green dot. Dahyun had done some research yesterday and found out that it wasn’t just a dot, it was a sun. One sun. One day. All the Void needed was one more day. A mere twenty-four hours, and then the abductions would stop. He had gotten a Blue, but he needed Green. Seonghwa blanched, almost passing out as his mind drifted to the worst possible outcome. One day left. He wanted Green. He had Blue. Seonghwa wasn’t thinking about himself in this moment, not at all. Minho and Dahyun could be in danger. Because whoever Void was, whatever Void wanted, he needed one more day for one more thing. One more thing to get him that Green.

 

He needed Yellow.


	2. This Is How I Disappear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He blinked back tears, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to calm his nerves. Seonghwa was beyond exhausted, but didn’t know if his body would still reject sleep. He fell back against his sheets after pulling on yet another sweatshirt - his skin felt like ice - and tried so desperately to let the roots of sleep tangle in his head. He could feel himself start to drift off, the edges of his vision becoming hazy. Finally, he started to relax, settling into his mattress. And then the alarm went off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, it only gets darker from here. Some warnings for this chapter specifically: date rape drugs are used once, and there's a small bit of dub-con. Jeez I wish that was the worst of it - the third chapter is really bad.
> 
> Anyway, there is some good stuff in this chapter - hopefully. Seonghwa's backstory is explained a bit, kinda like some justifications of/reasons behind what he does/how he acts. Also, just a little hint, all the chapter names are carefully picked, it's like a little intimation as to what's to come.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this!!

Seonghwa didn’t look like himself. After he and Minho walked back to their dorm room - saying goodnight to both Jisung and Dahyun had taken ages; none of them were good at exchanging quick goodbyes - the dancer was able to immediately fall asleep. But Seonghwa’s eyes wouldn’t close and his mind wouldn’t stop racing, no matter what he tried to do. Seven kids in three goddamn months… It was almost unbelievable. He had been shifting around on his bed, alternating between wrapping himself in sweatshirts and blankets or laying on top of the covers in nothing but an old tank-top and pair of boxers. Nothing felt right; everything was too this or too that. Seonghwa sat up quickly, pushing the blanket cocoon off of his body. He’d been trying everything to fall asleep, leaving his phone turned off and his alarm clock with its face away from him, but he was still wide awake.

 

Maybe Seonghwa had a problem with resisting temptation, because he grabbed the alarm clock and turned it towards himself, wincing and squinting as the bright green light entered his field of vision. “4:17, of fucking course…” He muttered, dropping the clock and letting it fall to the floor. He had his mandatory math class starting at eight, meaning he’d have to be awake at approximately seven-thirty to eat a quick breakfast and get to class on time. Which left just over three hours of sleep. This must have been a joke. Maybe Seonghwa was just having a really lucid dream, and he’d wake up feeling refreshed and ready to face the day.

 

But all hopes of his sleepless night being a dream were crushed as the early morning rays of the sun filtered through the broken blinds adorning the dorm window. He groaned, throwing his head back against the covers, as if hitting his head into the pillow enough times would knock him out. Just to be clear - it didn’t. If Seonghwa had the choice, he’d cry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever cried, be it front of people or by himself. His facade of happiness lasted no matter where he was; he thought that perhaps making others believe he was on top of the world would convince himself. The pent up frustration of the last year was bubbling up, rising like magma on the verge of spilling out over the ground. Seonghwa’s face felt hot, his eyes watering. “Don’t you dare lose it now.” He was reprimanding himself, outer guise reminding his inner self what his father always taught: emotion equaled weakness; it was better to be blank than a wreck.

 

He blinked back tears, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to calm his nerves. Seonghwa was beyond exhausted, but didn’t know if his body would still reject sleep. He fell back against his sheets after pulling on yet another sweatshirt - his skin felt like ice - and tried so desperately to let the roots of sleep tangle in his head. He could feel himself start to drift off, the edges of his vision becoming hazy. Finally, he started to relax, settling into his mattress. And then the alarm went off.

 

Seonghwa sat up, cursing up a storm, which made Minho wake up faster than the alarm did. Seonghwa ran his hands through his tousled hair and glared up at the ceiling, like that would rewind time for him.

 

“Hyung, you look like shit. And I say this with the utmost amount of love.” Minho’s voice was scratchy. The boy rubbed at his eyes, trying to make himself fully wake up. “Rough night?”

 

“No sleep.” Seonghwa bit back. He could hear the venom in his voice that was all directed at Minho, who clearly had done nothing wrong. “Sorry,” He muttered, feeling a small wave of shame roll over him. Minho was one of the only people to ever care about Seonghwa for who he was, one of the only people that didn’t extol him for his fortunate mark and treated him like a normal person, not a king among peasants. “I’m just pissed at the alarm clock, not you. I really look that bad?”

 

Minho hummed in response to the apology, his way of saying “Don’t worry, we all get like that sometimes.” Once he was fully sat up, he stared to the other bed to see Seonghwa’s face with vision that was less sleep-blurred. “I mean, you don’t look terrible. Worse than ‘chronic chainsmoker that had her first kid at fifteen’ but better than ‘crackhead who got arrested and put in rehab for the third time’.”

 

“Wow. Thanks.” Seonghwa deadpanned, willing himself to get up from his bed and walk into the bathroom. “No, y’know what, you’re honest with me and I legitimately appreciate it.” Seonghwa took a good look at himself in the mirror, and could easily see that Minho, with his weird description, wasn’t too far off from the truth. The bags under his eyes were almost as dark as his hair, which was both fluffy and matted, somehow. His skin looked dry and paler than usual, and his lips also looked a bit dry. He whined as he saw his appearance - not because he was only concerned with looking good, no, because he had a choice to make. Spend time doing his makeup to cover up the fact that he got maybe half a minute of sleep, or get breakfast to provide him with a little bit of energy but walk out looking like what the cat dragged in. And of course, against what he truly wanted to do, he chose to spend what could have been his eating time on makeup. Minho had walked in halfway through Seonghwa’s routine and sighed as he saw the slightly older boy practically slumped against the small counter.

 

“Hyung… I gotta leave for dance now, please make sure you eat something?” His tone was soft as he looked at Seonghwa, mouth twisted into a sad smile.

 

“Might pick something up… Vending machine.” Seonghwa mumbled his response, trying to wrestle a comb through his dark hair. Minho had said something else, but Seonghwa hadn’t picked up on it. The younger boy left, and Seonghwa was left standing - alone - in the bathroom. He winced as he felt a pang of hunger spread throughout his stomach, but there was no time to eat. He needed to get to math, and as much as he hated lying to Minho - who always knew when Seonghwa was lying - he’d say that yes, he did eat something. Seonghwa was exhausted to the point where he almost forgot that he was only wearing two sweatshirts and underwear, and already had his hand on the doorknob before remembering. He threw one of his sweatshirts off at the same time he pulled on a stray pair of jeans he found at the foot of his bed. He glanced around his room for a moment, looking for his class materials. Now actually ready to face the day, he stepped outside of his dorm room with a solid fifteen minutes to get to class.

 

Adding running to exhaustion and an empty stomach was probably one of the worst decisions one could make, but Seonghwa was determined to get to class on time. Well, he was determined to escape the endless greetings of “Oppa, how’s it going?” or “Hey, hyung, nice to see you!” His brisk paced jog had slowed to a trudge as he finally made it to his math class. Seonghwa slumped down in a chair after pulling out his textbook, calculator, and mounds of graph paper. His chin was propped up by his hands, but he could feel himself start to nod off. And in math class, of all places. Of course.

 

“Hey, Seonghwa-yah,” Seonghwa lifted his gaze to see an acquaintance of his - Wooseok - slide down in the chair next to his. “You look out of it, dude. Drinking?” After Seonghwa shook his head, Wooseok donned a wicked grin. “Was Dahyun over? Long night with her?”

 

That was it. One of the few lines that Seonghwa never allowed people to cross. Nobody ever spoke about Dahyun like that, at least not to Seonghwa if they wanted to get away with it. “Fuck off, hyung. You’re lucky I’m exhausted or I’d sure as hell beat your ass for saying that. You know she’s basically my sister.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” The sly smirk never faded from Wooseok’s face. “Anyway, you hear about the next kid disappearing?” Seonghwa’s chest tightened as Wooseok continued to talk. “Some Blue kid. Can’t believe a social threat like The Void would waste his time on one of ‘em, right?”

 

_ Sujin…  _ Seonghwa’s heart felt like it was constricting, his ribs crushing the organ.  _ Sujin-noona, I never got to say goodbye…  _ He blinked a few times, trying to get his mouth to formulate a response, one that would allow him to keep his reputation alive.  _ Noona, Father wouldn’t let me go to see you…  _ “Heh, I know, right?”  _ Sujinnie, I ran away so I could find you…  _ “What would someone important want with a Blue? Why not take someone worthwhile instead of a ticking time-bomb like them?”  _ But I was too late…  _ “That was probably the last of the abductions, though. Guess we just gotta wait it out, hope they can be found.”  _ Noona, I’m so sorry… _

 

__ Before Wooseok could respond, the professor walked in, starting class immediately. And although Seonghwa hated math with a passion, he was grateful for the distraction. Instead of thinking about all the missing kids, remembering how the last time he ever saw his sister was when he was being dragged away by his father, who hit him across the face every time a tear rolled down his cheek. “You are sixteen, Seonghwa.” He had said, his eyes rolling. “You should not be crying over this. She is a Blue, I don’t want her self-destruction hurting you, now. Besides, she’ll be with your mother soon.” Seonghwa had run away from his father’s new place a month after, hoping and praying that he’d be able to find Sujin, somewhere, somehow. But all he found when he finally reached his childhood home after a week of running and rejecting his father’s phone calls was a note tied to the front door. ‘I love you, Seongie-yah. Never forget that. Now go on and live your life, sweetheart. I’m where my dreams told me to be, now go follow yours. Take the stage, and the whole world, by storm.’

 

Seonghwa forced himself to stare up at the whiteboard. Sujin wasn’t here anymore. He couldn’t change that. His blood was boiling, his stomach killing him, his head pounding. Fuck this. Fuck all of this. Fuck his memories of Sujin, fuck graphing asymptotes, fuck his pathetic fucking facade. Without even realizing what he was doing, he was standing up from the chair, class materials in his hands, and striding towards the door. His professor was calling his name, shouting something about detention, but Seonghwa was on autopilot. He pushed the door and walked out, body seemingly moving on its own accord. He stumbled into the boys’ bathroom, making his way to one of the actual stalls and locking the door behind him. His knees were shaking, and he let himself collapse on the floor, barely having the strength to hold his head up above the toilet.

 

If Seonghwa could pick a least favorite thing, it would most likely be vomiting. The overall feeling made him - somehow - even more nauseous. At least now, since Seonghwa hadn’t eaten anything since last night, there wasn’t much he had in his system. The whole ordeal lasted maybe a few minutes, and after it was over, Seonghwa weakly reached his arm up to flush the toilet. He wished that simple action could wash away all the thoughts running rampant in his head.

 

At least Seonghwa always made sure he had a bottle of water in his backpack. He tugged the zipper open and fumbled with the cap of the bottle for a moment before finally opening it. He downed about half of the bottle trying to wash the disgusting taste from his mouth, and thankfully, it worked. He was out of it to the point of not caring if the whole school walked in and saw him like this, he just wanted to eat and sleep. Reaching for his phone, he dialed his first emergency contact.

 

“Hyung, what’s up? You never call me unless something’s…” Minho trailed off. “What’s wrong? What did you do? Where are you? What do you need?” He asked countless more questions, ones that Seonghwa couldn’t pay attention to.

 

“No sleep, didn’t eat, threw up.” Seonghwa had given up on trying to form a coherent sentence. “Bathroom, first floor of E building.”

 

“Shit, Seonghwa-hyung, I told you to eat.” Minho cut Seonghwa’s protest of ‘no time…’ by muttering “I’m coming to pick you up. You’re coming back to our room, eating, and sleeping. You’re lucky if I let you go to Hyunjin’s later.”

 

When Minho had shown up about twenty minutes later, he crossed his arms in front of his chest as he looked at Seonghwa, who had gained enough strength to open the bathroom stall door. “You’re an idiot. You know that? I swear, I should get paid for being your best friend. C’mere.” At his last word, Seonghwa stumbled forward, resting his head against Minho’s shoulder. It was a bit awkward, with Seonghwa being a bit taller, but Minho let it happen regardless. The walk back to their dorm was accompanied by Minho’s talk only, saying things that ranged from “When we get back, you’re eating, showering, brushing your teeth again because vomit and that’s gross, and sleeping.” to “You’re so damn stupid, I literally told you to eat. You’re lucky dance was just a quick practice.”

 

Minho had made sure Seonghwa had completed everything on the checklist he had gone over in the hall, and made him eat one more thing before he instructed the older boy to “lie the hell down or get knocked out, it’s your choice”. Seonghwa mumbled out a barely coherent “Thank you.” to Minho before he passed out, wrapped in three different blankets. The younger boy rolled his eyes but smiled, ruffling the sleeping boy’s hair. They had only been friends for about seven years, Minho having met Seonghwa after the boy found out about Sujin’s passing. He found Seonghwa staring out at the river, clutching Sujin’s note tightly in his fist. Few words had been exchanged that day, but they were a life-changing few words. “Who are you?” “Park Seonghwa. You?” “Lee Minho. Where do you live?” “I ran away.” “Come with me.” “What?” “My parents do foster care. I’m not letting you rot away by the riverbed staring at your reflection like a modern-day Narcissus. Come with me.”

 

From then on, Seonghwa had lived with Minho and his family, and both boys had seen each other at their best and worst moments. Whenever Seonghwa had started to get overwhelmed by the memories of his sister and mother, Minho would be at his side. When Minho would psych himself out to the point of a near panic attack about possibly confessing to his crush - Jisung - Seonghwa would calm him down. The support for each other was one that was rarely found between kids so young, and as they grew older, reached the point in their life where they are now, the bond only grew stronger. They had a running joke that they’d die for the other, if it were possible.

 

When Seonghwa woke up, it wasn’t just Minho in his room. Jisung was there, liplocked with the aforementioned dancer, and once Seonghwa mumbled a “Hey, Jisung.” the two noticed that Seonghwa had come back to consciousness and broke apart from each other. “Guys,” Seonghwa said, kicking the mounds of blankets off of him. “You know I don’t care, right? You two are probably the cutest couple I’ve seen, you don’t need to stop your adorable PDA because I woke up.”

 

Dahyun, who had apparently also decided to join the Dorm A324 party, stuck her head out of the bathroom door. “I said that, too! And hey Seonghwa, nice to see you’re conscious and coherent. And before you ask, yes, we’ll let you go to Hyunjin’s, as long as you eat there. The no alcohol rule still stands, and we’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

 

Seonghwa sighed, giving up on trying to kick the blankets off of him; all that was happening was him getting more and more tangled in the cloth. “Yeah, okay, I’ll be ready.” It took five more minutes for Seonghwa to finally escape the blanket prison, and he then proceeded to rummage through his closet until he pulled out a button-up and skinny jeans, both the same jet black as his hair. Completely shameless with his friends, Seonghwa stripped himself of his sweatshirt and flannel pants that Minho had forced him to put on, and started to get dressed in his chosen party clothes. Dahyun, finished in the bathroom, whistled and fished around for spare bills in her purse to throw at Seonghwa. “The stripper returns!” She crowed, laughing. “You planning on picking anyone up tonight, heartbreaker?”

 

Seonghwa shook his head once he was finished getting dressed, pocketing the bills that landed on his bed. “No way am I hooking up while sober. That’s not happening if I can help it.”

 

When they arrived at Hyunjin’s fraternity house, they were turning heads. Minho and Jisung in flannels - Minho in red and Jisung in blue - and jeans, Dahyun with her favorite purple dress, and Seonghwa in his all-black attire all caught the attention of most everyone. Hyunjin had walked up to the group of four, smile as bright as the flashing lights in the living room. “Welcome, welcome. Drinks are in the kitchen, we paid for a bartender. And Seonghwa, I told her what you look like, so you aren’t pulling anything on us. Anyway, enjoy the party! Come find me if you need anything, I’ll probably be everywhere.”

 

They stayed mostly together for a few hours until Dahyun broke away to go sit with an ever-growing group of girls she said she knew from vocal lessons. Minho and Jisung had been slowly edging towards the “dance floor”, alternatively known as the living room, but were reluctant to truly leave as a result of leaving Seonghwa alone. But one the oldest of the three practically pushed the other two towards the destination they wanted to reach, they both moved forward without a second look.

 

Seonghwa really got to take a step back now. He was leaning up against the wall, watching the party scene unfold and fending off pick-up lines from girls with their chests pushed out. The flashing lights were almost blinding, and every time they met Seonghwa’s eyes directly, he flinched. The music was almost deafening, and every time the bass thumped intensely enough for Seonghwa to feel from his feet to his heart made him wonder why he loved these kind of things so much. In almost every corner of the room and all along the wall edges, he could see couples formulating and beginning to grind against each other, pressing themselves up against the other with such a sense of urgency it seemed like they were in a  desert and the other person was their water. Watching it sent another surge of nausea through Seonghwa’s body, but it was different this time. Instead of being a physical sensation from him not eating, this was more of psychological nausea. Every single time he came to a party, every single time he got wasted past the point of coherency, every single time he backed a girl against a wall and let her explore his mouth with her own… Was this really what he looked like? From a sober standpoint, he could see the ugliness of it all. Messed up makeup, sweat stains, shirts unbuttoned and zippers undone… Seonghwa shivered.

 

Sure, he had over sixty years left in his life. But was this how he would spend those years? Drinking his life away? Was this obsession really something that brought him pleasure? Making his head so fuzzy that memories of Sujin would fade into the background, so fuzzy that every time a girl made out with him, he could imagine their features shifting to something less feminine, more--

 

No.

 

That wasn’t Seonghwa. Not at all. It was just another thing his father had instilled in his brain before Seonghwa escaped it all. No, Seonghwa wasn’t homophobic. Not in the slightest. Anybody he heard make a homophobic comment around school wouldn’t leave their current place without a black eye and strong berating, both given by Seonghwa. Hell, the only two guys that he was close with were in a relationship that had already lasted five and a half years, with a lifetime to come. But his father always made sure Seonghwa knew that he’d never be “one of them”. “Not in my family,” he’d say, gripping Seonghwa by the collar of his shirt. “In my house, I raise strong men. Strong men that don’t cry, that marry beautiful women and have sweet children.” Maybe that was another reason Seonghwa ran away…

 

Seonghwa could see the party start to spread out into cliques as it dragged along, the hours stretching and warping until time seemed meaningless. A few kids had made their way into the kitchen, ziploc bags of white, crystalline powder being pulled from their pockets. After every time they leaned up from the counter where they had spilled the bags’ contents, the tips of their noses covered in the snow-like substance, they glaze over their eyes intensified, their movements becoming more relaxed. A corner of the room was carrying out party games of some sort. Seven Minutes in Heaven, it appeared to be, based on the fact that kids were spinning bottles and retreating into a closet with the person the bottle stopped on. Dahyun was in that circle. Jisung and Minho were still in the center of the living room, illuminated by the bright flashes of the cheap lights, and by the glow they had about themselves just from being with each other. Minho quickly whispered something to Jisung, who nodded and planted a quick kiss on Minho’s forehead before the older boy made his way to the kitchen. As he was walking, some girl - one who was staring down Minho intently - pushed herself away from the wall to follow him, long hair swishing behind her.

 

Seonghwa didn’t know why, but his danger sensors were blaring. Maybe this is what Jisung had felt yesterday? A sinking in the pit of his stomach, the daunting thought of “something’s gonna go wrong” gliding around his mind, the inability to figure out what or why or when. There was just something about the girl that rubbed Seonghwa the wrong way, maybe from the way she was staring at Minho like he was her next meal. Part of Seonghwa’s mind told him that he was overreacting, and it was just residual worry as a result of the latest kidnapping. Seonghwa froze. He hadn’t thought about this all day. Gone were the names of the seven children, as horrible as that sounded, and in came his worrisome theory. One last day, one last person, one last Yellow, to collect.  _ Minho _ .

 

Seonghwa started to make his way towards the kitchen, completely ignoring the sane part of his mind that told him to calm down, that all this was just him getting worried for his friends’ lives. He walked into the kitchen, sticking to the side of the wall while also trying to stay away from the druggies that wanted to excitedly pull him into their circle, grabbing at his arms. Neither Minho nor the girl had seen him yet. The both of them ordered their drinks at the same time, Minho giving the girl a friendly nod and smile. The girl grinned upon receiving her drink - drinks, rather; she had gotten two - and turned to face Minho. Seonghwa was too caught up in trying to decipher what the girl was whispering to his best friend that he didn’t catch her slipping something into one of the drinks. The girl continued to edge closer to Minho, backing him up until he was leaning against a granite countertop. Her smile was innocent, but her eyes were alive with fire as she leaned in close towards Minho, brushing up against him.

 

This was another time Seonghwa drew the line when it came to something involving his friends. Nobody in their right mind, sober, intoxicated, or otherwise, tried to get in the way of Minho and Jisung. He walked over to the girl and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. When she spun around, and Seonghwa got a good look at her face, he was a bit taken aback. She was beautiful. Stunning to the point where it looked fake. Was she in Chung-Ang for modelling? If so, how had Seonghwa never seen her before? Still, he wouldn’t let his thoughts distract him from what he was trying to do. “Sorry, but Minho isn’t interested. He’s got a boyfriend to get back to, okay?” Minho looked up at Seonghwa. He was pretty tipsy, but sobriety flashed in his eyes as he mouthed his thanks to Seonghwa, quickly skirting away with his drinks to bring back to Jisung.

 

The girl hadn’t said a word. She peered down at Seonghwa’s wrist, drinks still in hand. “You’re a Yellow, too?” Her voice was delicate, like the first bloom of flowers in the springtime. She giggled. “I can’t lie, I’ve been looking at the Yellows here, hoping to entertain myself with one tonight. I guess I didn’t pick up on the fact that the cutie that just left was already taken. His boyfriend must be a lucky guy.”

 

Seonghwa felt himself relax, the tension in his muscles diminishing. “Yeah, the two of them are super happy together.” He looked down at her, taking everything in. He said he’d never hook up sober, but… This mystery girl was tempting, and she  _ did  _ have a drink that was currently unowned. “Wanna talk?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his dark brown eyes. The girl smirked, holding one of the drinks out towards him. The danger sensors were screaming out in his head, but he suppressed them. One small glass wouldn’t hurt, right?

 

Damn. Whatever was in that drink must have been strong, and Seonghwa had to praise the girl - whose name he still didn’t know - for holding her alcohol so well. Seonghwa felt like he was floating, his hands and feet getting a numb, tingly sort of feeling. Hell, he was feeling as if he’d taken ten straight shots of vodka in a less than a minute. His head was fuzzy, and the room was spinning around him, and he felt as if was going to fall.

 

But he didn’t, because the girl was there to steady him and press him back against the counter just like she had done to Minho, and capture his lips with her own. Seonghwa didn’t know just kissing someone could make him feel both so electrified and subdued. It was as if just having her mouth on his own was causing Seonghwa such an intense sensation of euphoria he couldn’t even focus on anything. He had pulled away for a moment when he felt a wind around him, confused as to when he had left the house. Wasn’t he just there? In the kitchen? The girl giggled once more, murmuring “You’re so cute.” as she gently reminded Seonghwa that they agreed on going back to her dorm. Wait… Seonghwa might be feeling drunk as all hell, but the implications of that statement were clear. And he had never… “Babe, come back to me.” She ran her fingers down Seonghwa’s chest, pushing him against the side of the fraternity house.

 

“When’d I say that?” Seonghwa’s speech was slurred, his eyes able to focus anywhere except for the girl’s lips - so soft and so pink. “Doesn’t sound…” The ‘like me’ of his statement never got the chance to be heard, as the girl cut him off with yet another kiss. Seonghwa could feel that he was losing himself in the girl’s grip, practically melting in her arms. Everything was so soft, so gentle. Until it wasn’t.

 

Before Seonghwa had a chance to register why he was now face down on the frozen ground, his arms were being restrained, forced against his back at an uncomfortable angle. “Wh’the hell?” Seonghwa’s head was pounding, and he tried to regain control of his arms, twisting around in the fashion a rabid animal would. His eyes met the girl - standing up perfectly straight, as if she hadn’t just been kissing him. But she was bending down now, a soft smile on her face. She was going to help him. Get him away from whatever - whoever - was holding him down.

 

“You talk too much.” After those four words, she pulled some form of cloth out of her purse. A hand towel? Seonghwa was still trying to wrestle his way out of the grip of whoever was holding him down, but the pain of what felt like a foot pressing his neck to the ground stilled his movements long enough for the girl to hold the cloth against Seonghwa’s face tightly, making sure it was the only thing he could breathe in. The smell of whatever the fabric had been doused in was sickly sweet, like an artificially made maple syrup coated with powdered sugar. Seonghwa’s struggling against the stranger’s grip made him gasp for breath from the exertion, causing him to inhale deeper breaths of the chemical the cloth was laced with. He didn’t know how long he’d been held like this, how loud he was screaming, if he was screaming. Everything blended together like some sort of horror movie acid trip, and the only thing Seonghwa could do was breathe in the chemical.

 

This was it. This was it for him, wasn’t it? As the chemical continued to invade his mind, slowing his movements and weakening his struggles, thoughts exploded like fireworks inside his head. First, he couldn’t die yet, this wouldn’t kill him. Right? Second, this could have been Minho. Thank fucking God this wasn’t Minho. The dancers couldn’t lose another member, Dahyun and Seonghwa himself wouldn’t know what to do without their best friend, and Jisung… If this had been Minho, Jisung would have been completely and utterly distraught, he wouldn’t know how to live with himself. Third, they wanted Minho for his mark. One day for one Yellow. And now they got what they wanted, in the form of Seonghwa. He stopped struggling. Dahyun wanted to be the hero and solve the disappearances, but Seonghwa would do it for her. Minho could have been in this position, but Seonghwa had unintentionally stopped that from happening, thank God. Jisung had been through so much already, but Seonghwa had saved him from a heartbreak. Seonghwa smiled softly, despite the situation. He was a good person. Finally, he’d be giving back to the three people that made sure he smiled on a daily basis.

 

But then Seonghwa’s sanity kicked in. His hallucinations of heroism were hindered by the horror of what was happening. This wasn’t a superhero’s origin story. This was his end. Somehow. He knew that he couldn’t die, but something deep inside of his mind knew that just because he wouldn’t get killed, death would follow him everywhere. For a moment, Seonghwa wished he was dead. He’d be with his mom, he’d be with Sujin. Minho, Jisung, and Dahyun would get to live their lives without having to worry about the train-wreck that Seonghwa was. He needed to get out of here, but the momentary lapse in his fighting sealed his fate.

 

“Boss will be pleased with this one,” He heard a voice above him. It sounded like Seonghwa heard it from underwater. “Seems like he knows how to put up a fight.” Seonghwa was pretty sure that his screams only existed inside his mind, and that his struggling had ceased to nothing. Darkness was teasing the edges of his vision, a black abyss looming over him, relentless in its quest to overpower him.

 

Yunho. Wooyoung. Hongjoong. Mingi. San. Jongho. Yeosang.

 

Seonghwa was the last one, Seonghwa was the Yellow that Void needed for who the hell knew. Come tomorrow, no matter what had happened to him, he’d be all over the media. He could envision it now, his face plastered all over tabloids ‘Park Seonghwa, The Void’s Last Abduction’ ‘The One and Only Yellow Kidnapping’. The kids at school would mourn his loss. Much more than they did for any of the other kids. Especially more than they did for that one Blue, Yeosang - Seonghwa paused, one last coherent thought running through his mind, one not his own.  _ I know Mr. High-And-Mighty couldn’t possibly fathom a life where you aren’t worshipped. _ Wherever that thought came from, maybe it was accurate. Seonghwa knew everyone. He wasn’t a vocalist, wasn’t a dancer, wasn’t a producer. He was a pretty face. A nice body. Maybe he deserved this.

 

Before darkness and silence claimed Seonghwa for their own, forcing the boy into unconsciousness, he could see one last thing: The night sky, the moon shining bright above him. He could hear one last voice: “Pretty boy’s got his face all cut up. Boss is gonna like him like that, maybe make it worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh yeah not a very happy ending for this chapter,, w h o o p s,,,,,
> 
> Anyway, I'd love to know if anybody has any theories/predictions about what's gonna happen. I had a super fun time writing this chapter - as sick as that seems - so I'd love to know what you readers think of it :")
> 
> Have a lovely day/night, atiny!!


	3. You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Seonghwa almost didn’t realize the voice that sounded out in the room, echoing in the emptiness. It was raspy and low-pitched, cracking at what felt like a rate of every other syllable. It was foreign, but it was his own. His throat was killing him, after who knows how long of not speaking, he was screaming like a banshee, crying out in anger. Anger at the people that had taken, that had cut him open like he was already a corpse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is most definitely the darkest of them. This isn't for the fainthearted, not in the slightest.  
> Trigger warning list: violence, human experimentation, non-consensual sexual actions, suicidal thoughts, references to cutting
> 
> I've honestly been putting off writing this because the non-con made me really damn uncomfortable, but I told myself that this chapter needed to get out, so I buckled down and wrote everything today. (i'm coming back after finishing the non-con, yeah, this twisted my stomach in every wrong way possible)
> 
> I apologize if you get uncomfortable at any point in reading this,, so, uhhmm happy (I really hope you enjoy this and I don't get hate for this update) reading??? safe reading???

Seonghwa knew he never really understood what true pain was like. Besides his tragic family life worthy of a drama program, his life was practically perfect. He had everything a superficial person could want. Popularity, the feeling of being liked by the masses. And more than anything, he had the luck his mark brought him. Special privileges, as stereotypical as it sounded, just from flashing the yellow on his wrist. In that sense, he truly did have it all. But everybody had their fall from greatness. Hades was cast down from Olympus, angels were kicked out of heaven. Nothing ever lasted forever.

 

When Seonghwa opened his eyes, he didn’t know what he should have expected. He was numb - he couldn’t even describe it as floating, every sensation was so intense it was numbing, leaving Seonghwa vulnerable to anything and everything. He could barely wrap his head around where the hell he was. It was the steady beeping of a heart monitor that caused his broken mind to think  _ hospital… operating room… pain.  _ Everything was blank, a fresh canvas given to the elements only to be destroyed. The only thing Seonghwa was able to do was to stare up at the burning light above him, its heat and intensity melting away any thoughts Seonghwa could piece together.

 

He only knew numbness. He only knew pain. He only knew torture. A terrible spike of pain cut through the numbness, making Seonghwa scream, and not of his own accord. The screams were uncontrollable and unstoppable. The anaesthetic given to him, the morphine running through his veins, it wasn’t enough to stop Seonghwa from feeling the scalpel dragging down his forearm, circling his wrist. His mark, the one thing that protected him from death, the blade was dragging across it. Seonghwa’s cries were muffled by a gloved hand placed over his mouth. In all his thrashing, his attempts to escape the iron chains that bound him to the unsterile table, he focused enough energy to bite down on the hand over his mouth. It was animalistic and it was feral, but Seonghwa felt himself grin as he felt the latex of the glove break, pools of blood dripping into his open mouth.

 

His rebellious acts had only earned him a slap to the face, and he heard someone order “More of the test chemical. Now.” with a loud voice, cutting through the constant beeping of the heart monitor. Seonghwa’s eyes rolled back in his head as a fresh wave of numbness rolled over his body. He could only imagine what was going on above him, his blurred vision obstructing his ability to get a clear perception of what exactly was being done to him. Men and women with blades, some carrying wires and tubes. The tubes were thin and translucent, an oily black substance running through it, from a seemingly endless supply directly into… Seonghwa’s bloodstream.

 

Whoever these fucking people were, whatever they fucking wanted with Seonghwa was more than just abducting him. He was being pumped full of most likely toxic chemicals and for what? To be some testing ground for Void? Seonghwa wanted to rip the chains off of him, yank the countless needles dripping unidentifiable chemicals into his system out of his arm, and spend the last of his energy destroying everyone and everything that led to this. He wasn’t normally a violent person, not in the slightest, but Seonghwa had never felt more enraged. If he could, if he had the power, he’d take delight in killing them all. He’d be merciless. He’d torture them like he was being tortured, hurt them like he was being hurt. He would watch with a smile as blood leaked from their bodies, from bullet holes in their heads or slits in their throats. He would laugh to himself as their lifeless corpses hit the floor, bodies already growing cold to the touch.

 

“I’ll fucking kill you all…” Seonghwa’s murmurs and promised threats were drowned out by the chaos of the operating room, but it didn’t stop the drugged up boy from declaring his own personal war on the people above him. “I’ll be happy killing you, fuckin’ laugh as the light fades from your eyes. You… You fucking all deserve to die slowly and painfully. Me and the other kids, fuck, we’ll make it happen.”

 

It took another order to up Seonghwa’s dosage of the ebony fluid leaking into him for the boy to fall back into unconsciousness. The light above him grew brighter, encompassing his entire field of vision. Everything was an intense white, so bright it burned Seonghwa’s eyes until they could only see darkness. It was the abyss he fell into, promises of destruction caught in his throat.

 

Darkness. Everything was shrouded in darkness. There was a sickening stench - blood? - permeating the air, making Seonghwa’s stomach turn. His dry throat and scratchy voice made it nearly impossible to call out for anything in the shadows, not for help, not for answers. Slowly, he inhaled through his nose. Yes, the ugly scent was blood. Seonghwa could practically taste the metallic substance on his tongue, filling all of his senses with the viscous substance.

 

His hands were bound, wrists red and rubbed raw from the cuffs - manacles more like it, ones that tightly encircled both of his wrists - that chained him to the chair - a folding chair, made of cold metal, with uneven legs. The blindfold tied around his eyes was damp, either from his sweat or his tears, and was musty with age. Seonghwa wanted to run his tongue over his lips, a habit of his. It would be something to ground him, something to keep him from dissociating, something to keep him sane in the total darkness and silence. But his tongue was dry - how long had it been since he last had water? - and his lips, usually full and plush, were chapped and bitten, dried blood framing the edges of his mouth.

 

He had no idea where the hell he was. He couldn’t wrap his aching head around why he had followed the girl. Slowly but surely, it had occurred to Seonghwa that he had been drunk - drugged, rather - and was coerced into following her in his inebriated state. The memories of what had actually happened were vague and fading, the pain and crushing emptiness he felt from being strapped down to some sort of table, tubes and wires pumping unidentifiable liquids into his body. Was this what the seven kids had gone through? Seonghwa could barely find it in himself to power through the pain, so what would that mean for the others? Everyone experienced pain differently… For the two with low numbered marks - Mingi and Yeosang - had this been cathartic for them? Did it make them wish their numbers were even lower? How had the first kid - Yunho - felt? He was alone for ages before anyone else had been abducted… Did he even know that there were others taken? It was pointless to kill his psyche looking for answers to questions he couldn’t even properly formulate.

 

Seonghwa could feel his heart start to pound in his chest again. Where. The. Hell. Was. He? And what. The. Hell. Was. Happening? A barrage of questions flew around in his head, despite his attempts to throw his worries into the black abyss he was surrounded by, making the raven-haired boy succumb to yet another splitting migraine. His futile attempts to break out of the restraints he’d been forced into had grown weaker as time went on. Seonghwa had no idea how long he’d been here, how long he’d gone without food or water. The last time he had drank something was the spiked drink the girl - no, his accomplice kidnapper - had given him. Seonghwa’s hero complex had crumbled away to ash when his consciousness faded. Getting himself fucking kidnapped wouldn’t do anything. His best friends must be worried sick, if they even knew he was taken. They had to. Minho was Seonghwa’s roommate, for god’s sake. Seonghwa could feel tears build up in his eyes, spilling on the ratty blindfold tied around his head. Maybe this was all a prolonged nightmare. Maybe he’d wake up back in his bed and look at Minho, explaining about the fever dream he had experienced.

 

Seonghwa’s existence, if it could even be considered that, was a pathetic conglomeration of silence, darkness, and unanswered questions. Was he conscious now? In the abyss of complete darkness and silence, Seonghwa wasn’t able to even tell if he were awake. Sane. Were his eyes open or closed? He hadn’t felt this lost and helpless since he found out about his sister’s death via suicide note. Since he had run away from home at the tender age of sixteen, needing to escape his father’s iron grip. This couldn’t be the end for him, not by a longshot. Everyone’s destiny was predetermined for them, and Seonghwa’s destiny was one people would commit crimes as great as identity fraud for. It was written on his skin that his life would last for decades upon decades more. He wasn’t dying from this. He couldn’t. But who was to say that whoever had taken him wouldn’t put him through hell for all the years he had left… 

 

Seonghwa didn’t know how long ago the knives and lights and beeping and wires had invaded his body, he only knew that when he woke up, he was exactly where he was now. With a blindfold covering his eyes, damp and drying from his wasted tears. A pair of cold metal manacles cutting into his wrists, most likely scratching deep into the skin and letting blood coat the metal just like rust would. His wrists stung, every sort of pressure against the torn skin sending flares of pain throughout Seonghwa’s chest. Was this what Sujin felt like after she had cut herself? A rope was binding his legs to the unstable metal chair, the only thing separating his bare skin from the restraints being the pair of jeans he had worn to that godforsaken party.

 

Seonghwa almost didn’t realize the voice that sounded out in the room, echoing in the emptiness. It was raspy and low-pitched, cracking at what felt like a rate of every other syllable. It was foreign, but it was his own. His throat was killing him, after who knows how long of not speaking, he was screaming like a banshee, crying out in anger. Anger at the people that had taken, that had cut him open like he was already a corpse. Anger at himself for letting himself be idiotic enough to let this happen to him, for being the reason Minho, Dahyun, and Jisung would be stressed and broken until -  _ if  _ \- Seonghwa returned. He broke the endless deafening silence he was put through on his own, yelling out in frustration. “Whoever the hell brought me here, I swear to God I’ll kill every last one of you! You don’t know who you’re trying to mess with!” His threats were empty, and his throat felt like it was burning, his lungs felt fragile and on the verge of collapse. Swallowing a coughing fit before it happened, he continued his shouting, the pain it brought only empowering him more. “I bet you’ve got no idea who I am! Nothing like the other kids you took! They-” It was going to hurt Seonghwa to say this. He knew nothing about the other kisd, save for their names and colors. But he swallowed shakily, convincing himself he had to act superior and narcissistic as if he were in front of his classmates. “They’re the disposable ones! Ready to succumb to illness or be idiotic enough to get themselves killed! But that’s not me, okay? I’ve got years upon years left, and there’s nothing you can do to cha-”

 

Seonghwa’s tirade was cut short as a fist - complete with a set of heavy rings - collided with jaw. His head whipped to the side, the crack of his neck now being the sound that echoed in the cold room. He had almost fallen over from the force of which he’d been struck with; the chair squeaked across the floor, resulting in a noise akin to nails scraping slowly across a chalkboard. Seonghwa groaned in pain, he would rub at his sore neck if he could. Whoever came in, whoever hit him, they must have entered during Seonghwa’s ranting. At the same time Seonghwa cursed himself for letting his emotions run rampant and get the best of him, he wanted the stranger to hit him more. It would be pain - so much endless fucking pain - but it would be something other than the nothingness Seonghwa had been living in for what felt like forever. The dark haired boy, in the midst of his rage, hadn’t heard the stranger enter wherever he was. But now, oh, he heard everything. He heard the slow steps the person took around Seonghwa, circling him like a vulture would circle a carcass it was looking to scavenge on.

 

“You’ll kill us?” The voice taunted. Seonghwa’s blood was boiling. He felt so far below this person, both figuratively and literally. It came from above him, sounding as condescending as Seonghwa himself did when he apathetically criticized those without high numbers or fortunate colors. What did the voice mean by ‘us’? Sure, there had been more than one person that carried out Seonghwa’s abduction, but the person - Void - that had been rumored to be the leader of all the kidnappings was one person. Right? Seonghwa’s chest was heaving, and he kept repeating  _ “Don’t cry, idiot. Do not cry.” _ in his head like a mantra that would keep him alive. “You ain’t nothin’ special, kid.” The voice’s tone was beyond patronizing, speaking to Seonghwa as if he were a toddler being reprimanded. “The only reason Boss wanted us takin’ you is so he’d have a pretty little plaything. After all, you are a pretty boy, aren’t you?”

 

Seonghwa audibly growled, his hands clenching into fists as best they could with the restraints on his wrists. “Get the hell away from me, you sick, twisted fu-” Yet again, Seonghwa was cut off by a punch to the face. At least this time it was on the opposite side; the pain could balance out. He could feel the stranger’s hot breath against the back of his neck, and it made him want to throw up. Of course, he hadn’t eaten anything in what felt like days, so he’d most likely be dry-heaving. But still, everything about the stranger’s speech sent an unpleasant shiver down Seonghwa’s back. The way he spoke, the choice of his words. It made Seonghwa nauseous in a way that was more than just physical.

 

“You really shouldn’t talk to me like that, pretty boy,” The body that the voice belonged to once again connected with Seonghwa, but this time in a much gentler way. And somehow, Seonghwa hated this more. The stranger’s hand was running through Seonghwa’s hair, muttering to himself words like “pretty” and “so much fun”. Seonghwa bit back a scowl, trying to seem complacent, at least for the time being. Nobody was allowed to touch his hair, not unless it was Jisung, Minho, or Dahyun. He couldn’t show his complete and utter disgust, at least not yet. “It’s been almost three days, you must be so thirsty, yeah?” Seonghwa caught the growl that was forming at the back of his throat before it could come out. If not for the color of his mark, he’d be dead in the next few hours. Seonghwa sucked in a quick breath, the action’s speed making it almost painful. His mind switched from logic to instinct, a need for survival overpowering coherent ideas. A lightbulb went off in the back of Seonghwa’s mind, flooding the extended darkness with a light only he could see. To be honest, Seonghwa didn’t know if he was letting his intelligence or his impulsivity take the reins. Regardless, this might have been the impetus that would let him get out of this mess.

 

Three… For Jisung, who he needed to come back for and protect from anyone who harassed him for dating a Yellow. Two… For Dahyun, who he needed to come back for and fend boys away from her that were interested in only her body. One… For Minho, who he needed to come back for and stay there for, not leaving his best friend’s side until he knew how grateful Seonghwa was for him. Seonghwa threw his body to the side, feeling the chair teeter dangerously on its most unstable edge. Leaning over further, he stopped a cry from escaping his lips as he crashed against the ground - it was cold, made of hard wooden planks. The force of his head smacking against the ground made him dizzy, but his main goal was complete. The scrappy blindfold had fallen from his eyes, now hanging loosely at his throat. His eyes were inundated with a bright fluorescent light that hung overhead, just like the blinding light that had been burning his eyes mid-operation. If an  _ operation  _ was even what what had happened to him could be considered. He was grimacing, head swimming. Still, he convinced himself to stay awake, stay conscious. He’d come so far, he couldn’t lose this battle now. Seonghwa was sprawled out across the floor, the side of his face pressed into the hardwood floorboards. From the corners of his sore eyes, he could see the stranger approach him, boots thumping loudly against the floor.

 

“You’re really somethin’ aren’t you, kid?” The stranger - a middle-aged man, black hair turning gray - laughed, a short sound, clipped and cold. Bending down, he gripped Seonghwa’s shin with a clammy hand, forcing the boy to look up at him. “Really wanna be special? Think you’re gettin’ there from tryin’ to escape?” Seonghwa didn’t move a muscle, hellbent on not showing any emotion. Not to this creep of a man. He was a fucking actor, and he had no objections to using that skill to the fullest. “Silent now, huh? Well, that don’t matter now. You’re gonna come with me, after an outburst like that.” From his back pocket the man drew a knife, a small dagger like one could use for camping. Seonghwa tensed, eyes widening. But still, he remained silent. This was just an acting gig, all he needed to do was say silent and he’d fulfill his starring role. He couldn’t die. The man would not kill him. His mark was keeping him alive.

 

Seonghwa clenched his jaw as the man stepped out of his view. He could feel the blade of the knife against his ankles, pressing against the ropes. Was this supposed to be some sort of punishment for his cries of anger? Seonghwa steeled himself, bracing for the worst. There were still spikes of pain and soreness in his chest where he had been ripped open and analyzed, experimented on. His wrists were burning from the sensation of metal against open wounds. Seonghwa was living through hell; this stranger, no matter what he did to Seonghwa, couldn’t possibly make it worse. The man brought the knife down quickly, cutting through-

 

The rope?

 

Seonghwa could barely hold back his noise of surprise. He tried not to think about how pathetic he must have looked, lying on the ground and weakly trying to stretch out his legs after days of being sedentary. Before he even had a chance to plan some daring way of escape, the man was gripping Seonghwa by the back of his shirt, lifting him - and the chair - from the ground. Seonghwa’s arms, that had been chained behind the back of the chair, were being stretched at a level that was almost unbearable as the man attempted to lift them off the back of the chair, up and around it to restricted freedom. After the man finally accomplished the task he’d been working at for a few solid minutes - with much cracking and snapping from the bones in Seonghwa’s wrists - he shoved the boy off the chair, snickering to himself as he crashed against the ground.

 

“Don’t make this harder for yourself, pretty boy,” He muttered, wrenching Seonghwa up from the ground. He laughed coldly as he saw the feral mania in the boy’s eyes. “You’re already gonna get it bad enough.”

 

Seonghwa wanted to scream again. Was this sick bastard really threatening him? His arms were still immobile, now resting - cuffed - against his back, but the lower half of his body was free from all restraints. Seonghwa kicked back, his foot colliding with what felt like a kneecap. He grinned to himself as the man cursed, releasing his grip on the back of his shirt. Thank god Minho learned self-defense in tandem with dance. Seonghwa looked feral as he spun around to face the man, eyes wild, with hair matted to his forehead from sweat that was days old by now. His whole body ached, and he felt ready to pass out at any moment. Thirst, hunger, exhaustion… All of it piled up and overwhelmed Seonghwa, overpowering the minimal energy he had left.

 

The world was moving so quickly around Seonghwa, sights and sounds all blending into a frenzy that left Seonghwa staggering, a pounding headache at the front of his mind. The man raised his hand, and Seonghwa squared his shoulders as best he could, ready to put up a fight if he needed to with any energy he could muster. But unexpectedly, the man snapped his fingers. A signal? But to who? Seonghwa didn’t have the time to question anything; the doors burst open, even more artificial light entering the room. Three people, all in masks that covered the lower half of their faces charged into the room, equipped with nothing but their bare hands. They surrounded Seonghwa in a flash, or at least that was how his groggy mind interpreted it. It looked as if the gang of three had some sort of leader, as they stepped towards Seonghwa, an unexplainable look in their - his? - eyes. It looked like anger, exasperation, and… Hurt?

 

Seonghwa’s vision was blurry, but after his eyes met the other boy’s… Everything became lucid. All too clear, all too real. The eyes that had plagued him for months. The phantom voice that had haunted him since the beginning of the semester. He would know that birthmark anywhere. The most beautiful person Seonghwa had ever laid eyes on. The night of the party, when the other boy had dragged Seonghwa away to give him a piece of his mind… Seonghwa had been drunk, but sobriety washed over his memories. That birthmark. Those eyes. A Blue. Kang Yeosang.

 

Seonghwa’s legs started trembling, on the verge of buckling and letting the boy fall to the floor. Everything was falling around him, and the venom that Yeosang had once spat at him all those months ago was resurfacing solely from the glare that he sent Seonghwa. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. That night, as he was dragged to some secluded corner, it had been cheers of “Kang Yeosang, go off on him!” that followed them. The pinnacle of beauty in Seonghwa’s eyes was standing right in front of him, mask covering most of his face, black hat pulled down far down his forehead. The room was spinning, and Seonghwa’s eyes were rolling back in his head, but the two other people - boys that seemed to be around the same age as Seonghwa himself - grabbed him before he could collapse. Their grips around his arms were painfully tight, squeezing his biceps like the manacles squeezed his wrists.

 

“Second spare room.” The strange man ordered, his voice gruff. “Boss wants an up close and personal look at his favorite little creation.”

 

The boys holding on to Seonghwa’s arms and dragging him forward against his own accord felt how the chained up boy tensed at the words, ready and wanting to break away from the hold they had on him. So their grips tightened as they made eye contact with Yeosang, who nodded at the action. In silence they walked from the otherwise abandoned room. The man was leading the way, Seonghwa and - as animalistic as it sounded - his two handlers in the middle, with Yeosang taking the rear.

 

The walk to this mysterious second spare room was silent, footsteps on a concrete floor being the only audible thing. Seonghwa had yelled at his mind to stop thinking about how yes, he  _ did  _ know Yeosang, the strange Blue boy who he knew inside that he had met before was the same face with the pair of eyes and the birthmark that Seonghwa had been obsessing over for months. Instead, he tried to bring his hero complex back. For Minho, for Dahyun, for Jisung, Seonghwa would escape. They were his three people, the ones he would sacrifice everything for. The ones he  _ did  _ sacrifice everything for. And he would take this all again, as many times over as he needed to if it meant protecting his best friends - his family. Whereas Seonghwa’s mom and sister were dead, his father somewhere in the world, whoring away with one of his many new wives, Seonghwa’s best friends were forever. They filled the gaps that Seonghwa’s blood family had left, and they supported him through everything. If they were here now, they’d be walking right alongside Seonghwa. They’d tell him they believed in him, because they always have and they always will.

 

Even with his hands tied behind his back, he walked into the spare room with his head held high. He was Park fucking Seonghwa, resident “The World Can Fuck Off Because It’s Fucked Me Over Enough Times” representative, and he wasn’t about to take anybody’s bullshit. The curtains had rose for him, the spotlight highlighting the bruises on his face and the scratches on his neck. The harsh stage lighting he had conjured up in his mind only made the dried blood on his face stand out more. Perfect. The room was small and stuffy. It was empty except for a metal folding chair, that chair facing a dirtied broken mirror. Five or so men stood around the chair, the one in the middle clearly the most important.

 

When the man that had led the way turned around and in a monotonous voice commanded, “Kang. Jeong. Choi. Leave.”, the hands dropped from Seonghwa’s arms, leaving him standing in front of the group of men alone. The door to the room opened once more as the three boys began to leave. As Seonghwa was being pushed towards the chair, towards the center of the room, the lights switched off. The man in the middle cursed loudly, ordering the stranger who had brought Seonghwa in to go and fix the lightswitch. As he scurried off, the middle man stepped forward. His voice dripped with a fake sweetness that made Seonghwa want to vomit right in his messy face. “Park…” Even the way he said Seonghwa’s surname sent unsettling chills down his spine. “Won’t you come say hello to your creator, pretty boy?” When Seonghwa didn’t move, and stood stoic in his tracks, a scowl spread across the man’s face. “That,” He began, gripping Seonghwa by the collar of the dress shirt he had been wearing since the party that changed his life and yanking him forward. “Was not a request. It was an order.”

 

Order or not, Seonghwa just stared blankly. If this man wanted him to talk, his silence would prevail over all. Another one of the men grimaced, starting towards Seonghwa. “You’re a lucky one, boy, Void’s planning on goin’ easy on ya. But that’s only if you cooperate.” He hissed, eyes trailing down Seonghwa’s body in a way that sent a spiral of nausea through Seonghwa’s body. The lights clicked back on, artificial brightness flooding the small room.

 

“Sit down, pretty boy.” The man -  _ Void, this was the person behind all the fucking kidnappings, looking at Seonghwa like the boy was his next meal  _ \- said this in yet another faked sweet voice, motioning to the rusted chair. “It’ll be worth it.”

 

Seonghwa fought back the urge to roll his eyes. He had heard lines like this from college girls trying to get in his pants, but never from a man that looked old enough to be his father. He wanted to let his sarcasm run free, but that would just get him a fist to the face - that had proven true by the last time Seonghwa had mouthed off. His stare was still blank, his body still unmoving save for the slight rise and fall of his chest. “The fuck is wrong with you?” Another man asked, beefy arms crossing over his chest. “You mute?”

 

“Like fuck he is,” The response had come from the man that had collected Seonghwa from his old room - prison - and finished reworking the lightswitch. “He was runnin’ his mouth well enough when I got there.”

 

Seonghwa sucked in a breath. The amount of people in this room, the amount of eyes that seemed to be fucking undressing him were all too much. If he could get rid of at least one of the men, he would. He made his voice sound soft and small, almost childlike. “H-He scares me…” Seonghwa hoped his stutter sounded convincing enough. With his hands behind his back, he couldn’t touch the bruise he was sure had formed on his jaw, so instead he brought the bruised part of his face towards his shoulder, turning away from the man. “He… He hit me…”

 

Void’s eyes grew dark. He whirled around on the man, angrily asking, “Is this true, Nam? Are you the reason my pretty boy is marked up like that?” When Nam shakily nodded, glaring at Seonghwa for exposing his previous actions, Void scowled. “Leave. And pack your things. Come back before a week’s time, you know the consequences.” Watching Nam hurry out of the room, eyes widened in fear, Seonghwa couldn’t help but be proud of himself. He stopped a small smile, the only thing reminiscent of his mini victory, from forming on his face.

 

But just as Seonghwa knew, nothing lasted forever. Why would it? Life was meant to be unfair. Out of the four men that were left, two stepped forward and pushed Seonghwa back down on to the chair, both pairs of hands pressing down against his thighs and trapping him against the seat. The third yanked Seonghwa’s arms back and looped them over the back of the chair, immobilizing him. “What the fuck-” Seonghwa’s voice came out before he realized he was the one speaking. And it wasn’t his faked falsetto of a voice, no, this was his confusion and his anger. He instantly regretted it, but he couldn’t stop. “Let me fucking go, you creeps. You already had your fun injecting me with your chemicals, so how about now you fuck right off? Does that sound good?”

 

Void leaned down, glaring daggers into Seonghwa’s very soul. “Listen here, pretty boy. I made you. You are mine, and I decide what I want to do with boys like you. Especially ones that decide to mouth off like you do.” His hand reached out and trailed down Seonghwa’s chest, stopping at the front of his jeans. As he roughly pushed his palm down, he grumbled “I suggest you listen to me.”

 

Seonghwa was fucking petrified. Inside, he was screaming for help, crying out for Minho and Jisung and Dahyun, anybody that could get him out of here. Even Sujin, even his mother, anybody that could pull him from what was slowly descending into hell. “Don-Don’t fucking touch me like that.” Seonghwa poured all the conviction he had into his voice, but all Void did was laugh, moving his hand harder and faster.

 

“You’re even prettier when you resist.” He growled, face close to Seonghwa’s ear. The young boy’s heart was racing, fists clenching behind him. Not only were Void’s advances unwanted,, they were fucking painful. Seonghwa tried to pull away from the touch as best he could, but the hands pressing down on his thighs prevented any real movement on his part. Void was smirking watching Seonghwa squirm. He ignored all curses and cries of  _ Stop!  _ From Seonghwa and worked his hand on the zipper of the boy’s jeans getting it unfastened quickly.

 

Tears were forming in Seonghwa’s eyes; no matter how many times he screamed for Void to stop, he just continued his ministrations, taking them further every time Seonghwa protested. When Void had pulled Seonghwa’s jeans down to his knees, calloused hand reaching down into Seonghwa’s boxers, the young boy squeezed his eyes shut. This was a nightmare. He would wake up. This wasn’t happening. Please, someone tell him this wasn’t happening. Seonghwa had to bite back a cry of pain when Void’s fist closed tightly around him and tugged up sharply. “Stop, stop, please just fucking stop-” Seonghwa could barely get the words out through the lump in the back of his throat that was forming as he tried to hold back tears.

 

“I’m goin’ easy on you, pretty boy. This could be so much worse, but if you listen to me, it won’t be as bad. I’m not bringing out the blindfolds, and I’m using protection. I could be making you choke on me or my men as punishment for your mouth, but I won’t. I’m being good to you, won’t you be a good boy for me?” Void’s grip tightened and his hand began to pick up its pace when he finished speaking. Seonghwa’s eyes were still closed, and he used his other hand to deliver a rough slap to the boy’s cheek, the same side where his bruise had bloomed. “Watch yourself, pretty boy. See how beautiful you are.”

 

So that was why the mirror was there. “No.” Seonghwa’s voice was broken, cracking after saying just the simple word. “You don’t get to fucking tell me what to do, you creep.” Seonghwa was choking back tears, seconds away from breaking down. For the first time in his life, he wished he wasn’t a Yellow. All he wanted was for this to end - he wanted to see Sujin again, he wanted to see his mother again, he wanted to end this once and for all on his own terms. His eyes flew open when he was pushed off the chair - his arms had been lifted off the back of the chair, and he was sent flying forwards, head making contact with the concrete floor. Through his dizziness, he could make out the sensation of hands holding him down again, two pairs pushing on his back, and one lifting his hips in the air. Maybe it was the shock of his head crashing against the floor that brought tears to his eyes, or maybe it was the realization of just how far this was being taken setting in. Regardless, the tears had begun to spill from Seonghwa’s eyes. Loud, choking sobs filled the room, causing Seonghwa’s body to convulse in time with his hiccuping cries.

 

A weak, broken “Stop…” fell from his lips as he felt Void push into him, ruining and violating any sense of privacy he had left. Seonghwa had never been this close, this intimate with anyone. He was waiting for the right person, he wanted his first time to be special. But life never worked out the way someone wanted it to, and if this didn’t prove it, Seonghwa didn’t know what else could. Everything was too dry and too rough, and Seonghwa felt like his body was burning. Against his better judgement, he tilted his head up to gaze into the mirror. But it wasn’t the sight of himself being defiled that he let his eyes focus on. It was the small movement in the shadows that took Seonghwa’s attention. Practically fading into the black shadows of the room stood out a pair of sparkling eyes. Yeosang. He was here.

 

Seonghwa let his head drop to the floor, not knowing what emotions overcame him. Was it disgust at himself for letting the other boy see him like this? Was it determination to get through these next few minutes to prove to the other boy that he was more than a conceited Yellow? Or was it jealousy? Seonghwa had spent his college days criticizing the Blue population for being born the way they were right in front of Yeosang. But now, Seonghwa wanted nothing more than to be a Blue. To have a sapphire mark of zero against his wrist. To have anything in his hands - pills, a rope, a gun, blades,  _ anything  _ \- that would allow him to end it all, to stop the pain and suffering.

 

His tears continued to fall, the salty droplets splashing against the concrete floor and creating darker spots against the light gray. He didn’t know how much longer it had lasted, he only knew that it hurt, and that he wanted to find a way to somehow end it all. When he felt the feeling of emptiness again, he crashed against the ground in relief. He could barely register Void above him, muttering “Fuckin’ filthy, pretty whore…” and he could barely process that one of the men had brought out a pair of bolt cutters to separate the manacles on Seonghwa’s wrists. The lights went off, the footsteps grew quieter, and the room turned silent.

 

Seonghwa was free - he had full control of his movements, but he couldn’t bring it in himself to move. The desire to escape, to get out of this, to continue on with life itself… It just wasn’t there. Sobbing into the concrete floor, he cried out for all the people he wanted to come and save him. No longer just in his head, his pleas for his best friends, for his sister, for his mother were all heard by the outside world. Silently, Yeosang walked over. His expression was something unexplainable. In all his time knowing Seonghwa, the older boy was untouchable and put-together. He was flawless, never a hair out of place. But this Seonghwa… The raw, real Seonghwa, the one under the artificial exterior looked like it was coming to the surface for the first time. His heart clenched as he sat down next to the boy - he had curled up into the fetal position, tears streaming down his bruised and bloody face as he whispered what sounded like names.

 

“Seonghwa…” Yeosang’s voice was calm, quiet, and patient. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, and I don’t even want to try to. But please, look at me. I want to get you out of here. All of us. You, me, the others. I think I found a way, but it’s gonna be eight of us that go, or none of us.” Seonghwa’s broken sobs hadn’t stopped, and neither had his tremors, but with the way he tilted his head towards Yeosang, the younger boy knew he was listening. “The guards expect you to find your own way back to the cell room, and they’re gonna be showing up there in a few minutes. They’re expecting to see both of us - I stayed back so I could get you. So we gotta leave now, okay? I know the first time we spoke we didn’t see eye to eye whatsoever, but none of that matters right now. I want to help you.” He placed his hand next to Seonghwa’s back, not wanting to actually touch the boy in fear of not knowing how he’d react. “Please, Seonghwa. The others will give you some space, and you can cry all you want once you get back to the cell room. But now, I gotta get you back there, I gotta get you cleaned up. You’re bleeding.”

 

Seonghwa had opened his eyes, staring blankly at Yeosang. It was as if he hadn’t heard a word the younger male said. Yeosang sighed, and moved his hand so that it hovered over the other boy’s. “Can I…?” Yeosang’s question was hesitant, trailing off before he really even got to finish asking it. Seonghwa didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Instead, he grabbed Yeosang’s hand. Any sort of pride, any sort of humiliation, none of it was there. The only thing Seonghwa felt was pained, violated, empty. He let the younger boy pull himself up towards a seated position, and had the decency to turn away as Seonghwa gently - slowly - pulled his jeans back up around his waist. When Yeosang turned back around, his mouth was set in a deep frown. “I… I just don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry this happened to you. Yeah, you’re a bitch, and kind of a bigot when you’re trying to impress your friends-” Seonghwa biting his lips as a fresh stream of tears rolled down his cheeks cut Yeosang off. “Sorry… What I’m really trying to say is that you didn’t deserve that. You’re a good guy. If there’s anything at all I can do to help, tell me.”

 

“Don’t leave me.” Seonghwa’s voice was fragile. He felt like that same homeless sixteen year old that watched the rush of the river pass by, wondering where his sister’s body had ended up. He felt lost. Confused. Angry. Worthless. “Please.” He forced himself to open eyes and to face the facts of what his new reality was. Looking over at Yeosang, barely being able to make his features out in the darkness, the same feelings that had surfaced the first time he looked at the other boy returned. If life weren’t so cruel, Seonghwa would have leaned forward, trying to forget everything by crashing his lips against Yeosang, letting the younger boy kiss him into oblivion. But life was cruel, and life was unfair. Besides… Seonghwa was straight. He had to be, that was the only way his father would let him live. But life had changed, and Seonghwa’s father was out of the picture…

 

“I am not going to leave you, Seonghwa. Now please, please come on.” He stood up slowly, outstretching his hand for the older boy to grab on to. He felt Seonghwa’s hand - cold and clammy - close around his own, and he gently lifted the fragile boy to his feet. Before Yeosang could properly decipher what was going on, he was pulling Seonghwa into a soft hug. Seeing how the boy changed from an outspoken kid with tons of friends to a broken boy begging someone he only ever had animosity with to not leave him just made Yeosang feel terrible for what Seonghwa had just gone through. Seonghwa let himself be led by Yeosang for as far as the door to the room, but could barely move past there.

 

“Hurts.” Still unable to form more than simple sentences without breaking down, Seonghwa blinked away tears as his legs trembled underneath him. “It really fucking hurts.”

 

“I know it does, I know…” Yeosang’s heart was breaking for the boy. “Here, hold on a second…” His brow furrowed as he bent down slightly to pick the older boy up from the ground, cradling him in his arms. If it were any other situation, Seonghwa would have loudly protested, scrambling down from Yeosang’s hold. But with everything that had just gone on, with the physical and emotional damage that he had just been dealt, he couldn’t find it in himself to protest. He turned his head towards Yeosang’s chest and mumbled a small, almost inaudible “Thank you.”

 

Yeosang didn’t respond, he just held the boy closer to his chest. Opening the door was a bit awkward to do, but he managed, and he silently walked the halls with Seonghwa in his arms, turning corridors until he got to the cell room. Knocking on the door was also somewhat of a difficult task, but he successfully tapped the secret pattern he and all the other boys had learned after their own abductions. The door opened - it was Wooyoung who had opened it, his jaw dropping at the sight of another boy. “I’ve seen him before!” His exclamation was a mix between a whisper and a shout. “He’s the best friend of someone from dance, he came to a few practices before!” He stopped himself from talking more and backed away from the door, letting Yeosang - and Seonghwa, by association - enter the room.

 

“Youngie, you know you can talk to him and not me, right?” Yeosang smiled softly at the boy.

 

Jongho piped up from where he was sitting against the wall, wrapped in Mingi’s arms. “Actually, the new boy is sleeping. Wooyoung-hyung could totally talk to him, but he wouldn’t hear.”

 

“Oh.” Yeosang giggled slightly, and made his way over to the eight small beds lined up in a row, passing Yunho and San who were deep in conversation. “I did not realize.” He leaned down and gently let Seonghwa fall back against the one unused bed, the last in the line. Staring down at him, Yeosang wondered how one person could have so many facets. Right now, as he was taken by sleep, he looked peaceful. Any remnants of being pained or being jaded seemed to evaporate into the air. Yeosang sat down on his own bed - right next to the one that had been unspokenly designated as Seonghwa’s - and sighed softly. Hongjoong walked up behind him, placing a soft hand against his shoulder. “Yeosang-ah… Have you told him about the marks yet?”

 

“No, I couldn’t…” Yeosang’s heart was constricting as he looked down at the boy. His hands were still clenched into fists, and the position his body had found most comfortable was the same one he had been lying in when Yeosang had walked over to him. “It’s not my place to say, but a lot of shit happened… I can tell him tomorrow.” He bent forward and placed a soft kiss against the top of Seonghwa’s head. Just a small brush of lips against hair, a silent reminder that he was there for the older boy. Just a friendly gesture, obviously. Nothing more.

 

“He’s a Yellow, Sangie,” Hongjoong said, sadness tinging his words. “He probably had the most years out of all of us by far, probably more than some of us combined…”

 

“His number was almost thirteen times more than mine, hyung. He’s gonna take the news hard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aye I mean if there's one "happy" thing that came out of this chapter, it ended with all of the boys being there! they're all gonna get more main-characterish in the next few chapters. and I can safely say that seonghwa will eventually get his revenge... but for now, yeah, he's pretty fucked up.
> 
> I truly do hope that this update wasn't too much for anyone, and if you're willing to give me feedback, it would be greatly appreciated :")
> 
> have a safe day/night, atiny!! I love y'all so so much ahhhh <3


	4. Surrender The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dreams and visions of escape filled his head, and Yeosang began to drift off, settling back into his uncomfortable bed. But soon enough, whispers filled the room. “No… No, stop, please, no… No, please, it hurts, stop… Stop, please.” Yeosang pushed himself up onto his elbows and craned his neck towards where the sound was coming from. Just as he should have guessed. Seonghwa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyy I finally finished chapter 4! I'd love to say things are getting happier as the chapters go on, but, uhm,, no... Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Trigger Warnings for this chapter: Slight self-injurious behaviors, not exactly suicidal thoughts but thoughts about accepting death, and lots of foul language

Yeosang wasn’t what society would consider a typical Blue. He was decently energetic - although more than a fair bit shy - and generally happy. Nothing like the depressed and mental disorder-ridden teens that Blues were portrayed as on television programs. Yeosang had always had a sort of fascination with the prospect of his own death, though. He wasn’t depressed. He wasn’t suicidal. So how was it that he’d get to the point in just five short years where he’d take his own life? It was both unnatural and unlike him. Well… It used to be five years.

 

After each boy was taken - experimented on, and stuffed with wires, and pumped with chemicals - the unexplainable had happened. The marks were the only stability people had. The one constant in the neverending turmoil of life. No matter who you were, what you were going through, nothing could change your death. Life’s end was its only constant. But for the seven boys - eight, including Seonghwa - that had already gone through the “trials”, as Void and his sickening henchmen had called it, nothing was constant anymore. There was nothing they could count on.

 

The marks - all of them, high numbers and low numbers alike, of any color - had been changed. Altered. Tampered with. Something that was never supposed to happen. Something that up until three months ago - when Yunho had been abducted - was impossible. Instead of the boys’ wrists bearing a rainbow of colors and array of numbers, they were left with the unthinkable. Their numbers, ranging from five to forty-eight were gone. Their colors turned monochromatic. Their wrists told a sad, twisted story. Gone were the marks that showed the world their identity, now present were only black zeroes, stark against each boy’s skin.

 

Each of them had taken the news hard - even if some of their numbers were low, they weren’t ready to die sometime in the coming year. And did the same rules of marks still apply? Were they going to die before their next birthday? The paranoia was there, but at least that myth had been “debunked”. It was early January now. When Wooyoung had been taken, it was mid-October. Before his birthday. But his birthday had passed, and clearly, he was still alive. So the rules of marks clearly didn’t matter. Not when they were all outcasted - freaks of nature. They were unnatural beings formed as the result of illegal chemicals and deadly toxins. But after all they’d been through - the earliest people like Yunho and Wooyoung suffering much more - they could no longer bring themselves to care. All of them were littered in bruises and scars from one guard or another.

 

Yunho and Wooyoung were sickly skinny as a result of near-starvation for three and two months, respectively. Hongjoong would look as if he were lost in his own world most of the time, eyes glazing over, small giggles spilling out from behind his lips. Mingi rarely spoke since he’d been taken, an attribute Hongjoong could confirmed was nothing like the boy from the studio he was when the two had first met. On the outside, in the light of day - or a dingy fluorescent bulb, rather - San appeared to be the least affected. But then came nighttime, and the boy would sob harshly in the arms of any boy that would take him, which were all of them, until he passed out from the exhaustion and exertion that came with crying so intensely. Jongho was like Yeosang, he hadn’t been there long, but his response to anything damaging to either him or the boys he had quickly learned to care about was anger. The boy was the youngest, but easily the strongest. After a guard had kicked Mingi in the ribs for not responding to a question, Jongho had unleashed himself on that guard, unrelenting until Hongjoong, San, and Wooyoung had to pull him off, the guard’s nose dripping blood and arm bent at an awkward angle.

 

And Yeosang. He’d been here the shortest amount of time, Jongho’s sentence beating him by a day’s length. In his three short days of being here, he’d been outside of their prison cell about the same amount of time he’d been inside it. When Yeosang was threatened, his instant response was always his main defense mechanism - shutting down. Yeosang’s head had been clouded over ever since he’d been taken and tested on. The only thing on his mind was trying to figure out how to escape, and with all the other boys in tow. And he was pretty sure he’d figured out a way. And the plan had been in place, but it had all crumbled to ash when Yeosang, San, and Yunho were instructed to follow who they’d dubbed Fat Henchman #3. Something like this had never happened before, and all the boys had no idea of what they should have expected. When Henchman #3 had snapped from inside the room they’d been instructed to only enter on signal, they burst into a ratty, old looking spare room with two people standing in the center of the room.

 

Fat Henchman #3 was practically standing over who appeared to be a young boy, close in age to the rest of them. The boy most definitely looked worse for wear - his black hair had been matted to his forehead from a mix of sweat and blood, his skin pallid from a few days of neglect. So there was another kid… When Yeosang’s eyes had met the other boy’s, a whirlwind of emotion circled through him, uprooting any composure he’d had. Park fucking Seonghwa, the one bigoted bastard Yeosang had only ever had the displeasure of interacting with once. He was a Yellow. But he was  _ here _ . None of the boys had ever expected a Yellow in their midst. Yeosang’s face shifted into a dark scowl. Looking at Seonghwa raised a cocktail of undesirable emotions in his gut. He was angry at the boy for being born the way he was - he was a fucking prick and entitled to anything he wanted for the simple fact that his mark was yellow. He was frustrated at the fact that someone like him had gotten captured - the asshole probably never knew a day of suffering, probably never experienced anything even slightly related to a hardship. And most of all, he felt hurt. Hurt by all the words that Seonghwa had said that targeted the Blues, and hurt by the fact that he couldn’t hate the boy for what he said. After all, kids were just products of their parents’ upbringing.

 

But that didn’t mean Yeosang couldn’t hate him for other reasons. But as much as he wanted to, he didn’t. He couldn’t, not after seeing firsthand what had been done to the poor boy just hours ago. And fuck, experiencing that and then learning that his number in the sixties was reduced to nothing… There was a good chance it could break the boy past repair. Judging by the pace of the guards’ footsteps outside of their cell, it was the middle of the night. A time Yeosang never wanted to be awake, but always found himself conscious in. He was lying down on his “bed” - a rusty and squeaky cot with a blanket about as thick as a dragonfly’s wings - and staring up at the ceiling where the light would have been. At least the prison guards had the decency to turn the lights off so the boys could get some semblance of sleep. Yeosang peered over his shoulder and tried to make out the shape of the other boys through the darkness. They had pushed four of the cots together, all falling asleep in one big pile. Yeosang couldn’t help but smile at the six of them. He’d known them for less than a week, but felt close to all of them in a way nobody else ever could. They weren’t segregated by colors; they were now all equal in that regard. And they’d all been through the same shit, regardless of the length of time they’d gone through it.

 

Yeosang turned his attention back from his friends - Were they his friends? Blood brothers? Something of the sort? He didn’t know. - to Seonghwa. The boy hadn’t moved since Yeosang dropped him, albeit gently, against the bed. His knees were still close to his chest, hands squeezed into tight fists with his arms covering his face. Yeosang sighed in an almost angry manner. As much of a narcissistic asshole Seonghwa was, he in no way, shape, or form deserved what Void had done to him. Just thinking about it made Yeosang’s stomach turn, a sickening sense of nausea building up inside of him. And hell, he hadn’t even been the one to experience it. Regardless of what had happened to Seonghwa, Yeosang needed to focus on the bigger picture - escape. Their original plan had been today, but Seonghwa’s arrival screwed Yeosang’s master plan over. Tomorrow, though… They were getting out of here. Obviously, Yeosang was busting them all out for each and every one of them, but his heart went out to one of the boys more than anyone else. To Yunho, who’d been here for three months. Three goddamn months of the endless pain and torture Yeosang had felt in just a few days was something he couldn’t begin to fathom.

 

Dreams and visions of escape filled his head, and Yeosang began to drift off, settling back into his uncomfortable bed. But soon enough, whispers filled the room. “No… No, stop, please, no… No, please, it hurts, stop… Stop, please.” Yeosang pushed himself up onto his elbows and craned his neck towards where the sound was coming from. Just as he should have guessed. Seonghwa. The boy was visibly shaking, his body wracked with tremors that reminded Yeosang all too much of how he’d been trembling on the floor after… After what had happened. His whispers were slowly increasing in volume, and Yeosang had half a mind to clamp his hand down over Seonghwa’s mouth to stop the noise. “Stop! No, no, fuck, don’t touch me, please! Fucking stop it!”

 

Yeosang sighed, swinging his legs over the side of his bed so that he was sitting up, facing Seonghwa. Lightly, he put his hands on the older boy’s shoulders, trying to shake him awake. His cries and pleads only got louder, and Yeosang had to become firmer with his actions, his own voice joining the mix. “Seonghwa. Wake up. Whatever they’re doing to you, it isn’t happening right now. You don’t need to worry. I’m…” Yeosang faltered. “I’m here, I guess.”

 

“What…?” Seonghwa’s voice was now something that had decreased in volume, and he hurriedly pushed himself up from a lying down position, wincing at the pain centered in his hips and lower back. “Fuck…”

 

“Seonghwa. You, um, you were having a nightmare.” Yeosang’s arms were crossed over his chest. Fuck Seonghwa. Fuck his stupid face and fuck his stupid personality and fuck his stupid ability to make Yeosang unsure of how to go about things and fuck him for making Yeosang feel unexplainably bad for him. “I gotta tell you something. About your mark.” “What?” Seonghwa asked for the second time, sleep still blurring his vision. “Where am I? What the hell’s happening?” Yeosang suppressed an eye roll and reached out, grabbing Seonghwa’s left wrist in his hand. Seonghwa let out a noise between a yelp and a sob and wrenched his whole arm away, a rabid sort of fear in his eyes. “Don’t- Don’t touch me, don’t fucking touch me-”

 

“Shut the hell up, Seonghwa, for one goddamn second!” Yeosang’s exasperation was clear in his tone, and he tried to seize Seonghwa’s wrist in his grip once more. When his attempt was proven futile, Yeosang sighed. “This is really fucking important, so for once in your life, if you could get down off your high horse and listen to someone other than your own bitchy, bigoted self, that would be greatly fucking appreciated.” Seonghwa just moved farther away from Yeosang, a few muffled curses escaping his lips from the pain in his hips. “Jesus fucking  _ Christ _ , Seonghwa. I’ve seen you at your fucking worst for crying out loud, so just listen to me for one damn second. I’m the best person to tell this to you. So listen, you fucking asshole.”

 

Seonghwa laughed. The sound was empty, no emotion attached to it. “You… You don’t fucking know anything about me. You know fucking  _ nothing _ . Just because you were there to watch me… To watch me get beaten and fucking raped means nothing.” Clearly, admitting out loud what had happened to him had taken a toll on Seonghwa. His breaths became hitched, his eyes squeezing shut at an attempt to block out the surge of tears that had sprung up. “You mean nothing to me, you’re an easily fucking erasable part of my life, so don’t you dare try to act like you’re superior to me in any way.” The tears were in free-fall down Seonghwa’s face, but he just turned away from Yeosang, facing the opposite wall.

 

Yeosang was grimacing. He couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted to punch Seonghwa to get him to  _ just shut up  _ or kiss him for the same reasons. He wasn’t the type of person to back down in any situation, not in the slightest, but he felt bad keeping on antagonizing Seonghwa like this. Especially after what he’d suffered through. “Listen, Seonghwa…” Yeosang spoke every word carefully, trying not to let any venom seep in to his words. “I don’t want to be your enemy. Just because I think you’re a kinda shitty person, I-”

 

“Will you ever just shut the fuck up?!” Seonghwa whirled around to face Yeosang, his voice tight from the effort of trying not to continue his crying. “Seriously, Yeosang, you think you’re so entitled, just because you’re some beautiful fucking social justice warrior that can make anybody enraptured with you even if they’re fucking drunk. ‘Just because I think you’re a kinda shitty person’,” Seonghwa spat, his dark eyes hardened. “Really? I would have thought you’d have more empathy. Hell, you fucking watched him fuck me. And…” His breathing was getting harsher. “And you didn’t even fucking do anything! I bet you liked watching, didn’t you, you sick fuck? What’s next, wanna see him kill me?”

 

“If I would have interrupted, not only would Void hurt me, he’d hurt you even more! I couldn’t let that happen! I made a promise to myself to get us all out of here, and now you’re included in all of us! Don’t forget it was me that carried you back here! You were bloody and sobbing and fucking wrecked, but I didn’t say anything about it! The others all asked what happened, but I didn’t say anything. Because, unlike you, I’m not a dick.”

 

“Fuck you. Why the hell’d you even wanna wake me up? I’d rather have another bad dream than suffer through the living nightmare that’s being in your presence.” Seonghwa was shaking, and he hid his head in his hands, unwilling to look Yeosang in the eyes.

 

A voice that didn’t belong to either boy sounded through the room. “Yeosang-ah?” It was Hongjoong. The boy slowly began to rub the sleep from his eyes, moving to untangle himself from the tangle of bodies both under and on top of him.

 

“Hyung, shh, just go back to sleep. I’m sorry for waking you up…” Yeosang flashed a sad smile towards the older boy, who made a small, noncommittal noise in response before letting himself fall back against the bed, head resting against Mingi’s chest. After a few moments of silence, Yeosang looked back towards Seonghwa. The boy looked like he was mumbling things to himself, his hands running up and down the blankets, completely in his own world and unaware of what was going on around him. And to Yeosang, seeing Seonghwa exposed in this way - raw, like nobody was watching him - was magical. Breathtaking, even. Before Yeosang could really register what he was doing, he was pushing himself off his rusty cot and taking the two or three steps to Seonghwa’s cot, sitting down on the opposite end. “Hey.”

 

“Hey? You’re really trying to talk to me? Weren’t you just calling me a bigoted dick a minute ago?” Seonghwa snapped. And just like that, his defenses - walls of sarcasm and anger and spitefulness - were rebuilt. He wiped his eyes before placing his tear-stained hands at his sides. “What happened to that?”

 

Yeosang sighed. After taking a few moments to cool down, he had reminded himself of one thing: Seonghwa was lashing out because he was hurt. “I realized that screaming at you at three in the morning wasn’t worth it, Seonghwa. Besides,” He put his hand down near one of Seonghwa’s, taking a mental note of how the boy flinched. “I can see that you’re hurting. And I’m not usually this much of a dick, either. I do believe you can be a good person-” Yeosang paused, clearing his throat. “That you  _ are  _ a good person. But I just haven’t gotten to see that side of you yet. I’ve seen you broken, angry, drunk, cocky, arrogant… Everything but  _ good _ , but I believe you’ve got that inside of you. And I’m really trying to be a good person here.” He moved his hand closer, his fingertips brushing Seonghwa’s. Seonghwa tensed, pulling his hand away, a soft ‘Please don’t touch me.’ escaping his lips. “Sorry,” Yeosang breathed out. “All I’m really saying is, I want to be your friend. Because of what Void’s done to all of us, the eight of us are connected in impossible ways. It’s a lot to stomach, and I’m willing to be here for you when you need someone to get through this.”

 

Seonghwa looked up at Yeosang. His eyes were slightly widened. Slowly, he licked his lips, a shuddering breath forcing its way out of his lungs. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Everything hurts, but everything’s numb. I’ve just got no will to do anything anymore. Living… What’s the purpose? I just… I can’t find one. Not when Su-” Seonghwa stopped his sentence abruptly, coughing. The room was silent. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a complete asshole to you and all the other Blues. My sister is… My sister was a Blue; I know how hard life can be for you guys. I took my anger from her loss out on any other Blues, because you were all still alive. It’s no excuse, and I know that, but it’s a reason.” “The great Park Seonghwa apologizing for his actions…” Yeosang shook his head. “I would have sworn I’d never see the day.”

 

“Sleep with me?” Seonghwa’s question caught Yeosang off-guard. Yeosang pulled back with a bewildered stare. “Not- Not like that. I’m pretty sure I was trashed when I told you this but I’m…” Seonghwa coughed quietly. “Straight, y’know? I just… I really don’t want to be alone right now. Everything hurts and I’m tired and I want to sleep forever, but I can’t do that. You don’t have to, but I just wanted to ask, I guess.” Yeosang was silent, causing Seonghwa to drop his head in his hands. “Look, just forget I asked.”

 

“You aren’t a Yellow.” Yeosang regretted the words the second they came out of his mouth. There was no reason to present the news so bluntly, no explanation for how abrupt he had been. But Yeosang couldn’t stop his mouth from running. “Whatever Void did to us, it… It changed everything. All of us, we aren’t Reds and Blues and Purples and Greens. All of our marks… Gone. Well, I mean, not exactly  _ gone _ , but… Our colors are gone. Our marks are pitch black. And all our numbers… Fuck, they’re all zeroes. None of us know how it happened. It shouldn’t have happened. But regardless, none of us know what the hell it’s supposed to mean. I… I want answers, which is why I came up with a way to break us all out. Tomorrow. We’re leaving.”

 

Seonghwa hadn’t moved a muscle since Yeosang started talking. This… This couldn’t be true. It was literally impossible - or, it  _ should  _ have been impossible. Was this just Yeosang trying to scare him? Was his complete and utter humiliation after he’d been violated not enough? Was spilling the truth about how Sujin’s death continued to impact him on a daily basis amusing to him? Breathing roughly, Seonghwa’s hand clawed at his left wrist - the same one Yeosang had been trying to grab - trying to push back the ragged sleeve of his shirt. The scrape of his nails against the pallid skin of his wrist barely caused any pain for Seonghwa - what he'd been through in the past hours alone was incomparable to any sort of physical turmoil.

 

His wrist was practically shredded from a combination of the manacles and his frantic scratching to try and pull his shirt back, but Seonghwa could no longer care about something as trivial as surface-level pain. Yeosang was right. Clear as day, sticking out like a sore thumb. Seonghwa could envision his world crumbling down around him. He wouldn’t be there to see Dahyun take over the world as an idol. He wouldn’t make it to Minho and Jisung’s eventual wedding. He’d be dead. Emblazoned on his wrist was no longer his stability and certainty. It was his death sentence. Seonghwa ran his thumb over the mark, gently at first, and scanned his gaze along his finger as if he expected to see the oily blackness of the mark rub off like pen ink. But all too quickly, his movements became harsh, nails slashing along his skin to try and rid himself of the tainted mark. Seonghwa’s breaths were ragged, and he could feel the hot wall of tears start to build behind his eyes, and he could sense the small bits of skin that were being picked away with every drag of his nails.

 

Yeosang couldn’t just sit back and watch the chaotic deterioration unfold in front of him. Holding back a growl of aggravation - at Seonghwa for being so reckless with himself, and at his own self for letting Seonghwa know about his mark in this way - he leaned forward, ripping Seonghwa’s hand away from his wrist. The room was dark, but Yeosang could see the small pinpricks of blood that had bubbled up on Seonghwa’s skin. Seonghwa was thrashing violently now, trying his best to yank his arm away from Yeosang’s iron grip. “Don’t- Don’t fucking touch me, let go of me, I’ll fucking kill you, let go-” he gasped, wincing as Yeosang only tightened his hold. “I said,” Seonghwa’s eyes darkened dangerously. For a moment, it looked as if his eyes flashed as black as the zero on his skin. “Don’t. Fucking.” With a grunt of pain, his ripped his arm away from Yeosang. “Touch me.” With a loud thud, Seonghwa reeled his fist back and sent it driving into the side of Yeosang’s head, the blow sending the younger boy toppling backwards off the bed.

 

Seonghwa was panting, gasping harshly for breath, both hands shaking. He could feel his wrist begin to sting, and looked down, almost vomiting when he saw the black zero dressed in rivulets of his own blood. When he raised his eyes, Yeosang was standing above him, one hand threaded through his hair, rubbing at his head. “You absolute fucking bitch…” He growled. Yeosang dove towards Seonghwa, splaying his hands out on the wall behind the bed, one on either side of the older boy’s head. A twinge of guilt rang through Yeosang’s body when he registered how Seonghwa recoiled, trying to push himself back into the wall. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t seriously hurt yourself, and you punch me? I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I swore to get us out of here. Alive. And safe. And I won’t have you and your moronic recklessness jeopardizing my plans! Okay?”

 

“Get away from me. Just get away from me, back up, or I’ll hit you again, I don’t care, just please get away, please…” Seonghwa’s chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace, his voice shaking unsteadily. His eyes fluttered shut, and he drew his knees up to his chest, ducking his head into the space between his legs and torso. Although his voice was muffled, Yeosang could make out words like “please” and “leave me alone”.

 

“I…” Yeosang’s sentence faded before he could truly begin it. He sighed, pulling back from the wall and standing straight, still rubbing at his now pounding head. “I thought you wanted me to stay with you. Sleep next to you, and all that.”

 

“That was before you fucking ruined my life.” Seonghwa looked up at Yeosang with bloodshot eyes, his mouth twisted into a scowl.

 

“Me? Blame Void, you asshole. I just told you how it is. Yeah, it’s terrifying and none of us know what it could possibly mean. But it’s reality, and you need to face the facts.” Yeosang glowered down at Seonghwa with a scowl of his own, but was only met with the crown of his head. Had the boy fallen asleep? No, he couldn’t have. Yeosang could hear the slight sounds of cries and whimpers emanating from where Seonghwa sat. Trying to continue to talk sense into the boy would be worthless, but at least he had stopped tearing the skin from his wrist. Yeosang sat back down on his bed, slowly reclining, slipping under the thin blanket. After the emotional rollercoaster of today - bringing Seonghwa back, shouting at him one second, and almost being willing to sleep alongside him the next; hearing his apologies for how he’d treated the Blue population one moment, and calling Yeosang a sick fuck the next - his rusty bed felt like heaven.

 

“Hyung?” San’s voice reverberated through the otherwise stolid air. Yeosang was startled for a millisecond, but turned to face the slightly younger boy. “I’ve been awake since the whole shouting match between you and…” He paused, trying to remember the newest captive’s name. “Seonghwa… He really got…” San shivered instead of saying the word. “By Void? God, that’s just… That’s horrid. I feel terrible for him. And after all that, him finding out he’s no longer got Yellow stability… It just sounds like the worst possible turn of events.”

 

Yeosang’s stomach twisted into knots. He definitely could have waited until daytime to tell Seonghwa about his defiled mark. “Yeah, Sannie. Isn’t good.” “Come here.” San whispered. “With the rest of us. I’m pretty sure it almost is morning, so just try and get some sleep with me and the others. It’s warm over here; body heat and all that.”

 

Yeosang nodded slowly. He groaned getting out of bed, winding up tangled in his thin blanket for a sizeable amount of time before kicking the cotton cloth off of his legs. His short travel to the conglomeration of beds and people was more of a stumble than a walk. And although his steps were unsteady, he was able to softly lower himself onto the weak mattresses. His limbs felt instantly heavier as he settled into the bed. He felt San’s arms wrap around his waist and pull him close. The other boy was right. It was warm, and Yeosang quickly felt the pull of sleep drag him into its clutches.

 

Seonghwa felt empty. He tried to block out Yeosang’s hushed conversation with the Sannie boy, but he was still able to pick out key phrases. The words like “no longer got Yellow stability” and “worst possible turn of events” ringing in his ears. His tears were falling from his face, dripping on his dirty jeans and staining them with the salty wetness. The kid was right. His stability, everything he ever knew… It was gone. Seonghwa could die in the next hour - the next minute. And as strange as it sounded - How could a Yellow reach this point? - Seonghwa would be satisfied if his death came in the next second. In fact, he’d welcome it with open arms. Seonghwa would have liked to think that his death would be accompanied by Sujin and his mother pulling him up into heaven, but after everything that had happened in the past few days, he wasn’t sure if someone like him - an abomination - would rise up to those pearly gates.

 

Thoughts of his family wouldn’t stop plaguing his mind. Not his father - he was Seonghwa’s blood, not his family. He was thinking about Dahyun and Jisung and Minho. His favorite people who walked this earth, and he might die before he ever got to see them again. As morbid as it sounded, certain aspects of each of their deaths had already been planned. Funeral plots already bought, and crematoriums already booked. But Seonghwa’s slot was supposed to be in sixty-four years. Not less than one. How was his family even holding up? Dahyun had been on the verge of tears when Jongho had been reported captured, so how must she be feeling after three days of knowing someone she considered her brother was gone? And for Jisung, he had always looked up to Seonghwa for a multitude of reasons. Even with all that Seonghwa had been through in his life, he remained strong on the outside - something Jisung had always aspired to do. But Minho… Seonghwa’s heart constricted in his chest. Minho could have been in his position. If Seonghwa hadn’t stepped in and gotten Minho out of the situation with the strange girl, Minho would be here instead of him. Minho would have had his mark stripped down to nothing and soiled black. In full transparency, Seonghwa was glad he was in this position rather than Minho. Minho had so much more to live for - Jisung, his dancing career, his mother and father that supported him no matter what. Seonghwa would let Void have his way with him a hundred times over, more, even, if it meant keeping Minho safe.

 

The surge of rebellion that had sprung up in Seonghwa when he was first being abducted up until he’d been brought into that cursed room was no longer present inside of him. The desire to escape, the yearning to go back to his best friends was dissipating with each of his shallow breaths. There was nothing of substance inside of him anymore. Not after his time with Void, and not after learning his mark had been ruined. How the hell was it even possible… Seonghwa’s fists clenched. When he had just been taken, when he was strapped down to the operating table. A constant drip of an unnamed, unidentifiable black liquid had been flowing into him. A blurry face standing above him had called for more of a “test chemical” after Seonghwa had bitten one of the men’s hands. Instead of outrage, Seonghwa just felt defeated. He wasn’t the person he had faked himself to be - confident, even arrogant, with a temper to be reckoned with. He was sixteen again, running away from home for a number of reasons. Wanting to find Sujin before it was too late, and wanting to escape his father’s anger. It had been a spur of the moment decision. Seonghwa had gotten high hanging out with his former best friend, and his father burst into his room where the two boys had been making out. Seonghwa had told himself that he really was straight, that it was just high school experimenting. He tried to make his head believe that he didn't like kissing another boy as much as his heart told him he did. Seonghwa had left that night, face stinging from the first beating his father had ever given him.

 

Seonghwa stared out into the dark abyss of the room. He tried as long as possible to not look towards the other seven boys. Seeing them all huddled together just made Seonghwa feel ostracized. Not only was he the new boy, he couldn’t handle someone lightly touching his hand, let alone having a multitude of people all around him. But regardless of what Seonghwa wanted to do, his eyes - and apparent need for suffering - got the best of him. The seven boys all looked peaceful. Even the scarily thin ones and those with bruises dotting their jaws and eyes looked at ease. He could see Yeosang in the dark. He looked like he was resting well, head buried in the crook of someone’s neck. A pang of frustration sounded through Seonghwa. Why was it that Yeosang - and the six others, for that matter - were able to rest so well when Seonghwa was becoming the poster child for insomnia?

 

Through the slight crack in the ceiling shone light. It was pinkish-orange in hue, a stark contrast to the blacks and grays and browns he’d been living in. The light - which Seonghwa presumed to be the first rays of sunlight - notified Seonghwa of two things. The first being that he had stayed up all night, his thoughts too chaotic and disorderly to allow him to drift off into sleep. Seonghwa didn’t know the last time he had gotten a proper restful sleep; his last night in his own dorm was spent tossing and turning. The second thing he was notified of was a memory. Sometime between screaming at Seonghwa and grabbing him by the wrist, Yeosang had mentioned he had an escape plan to be enacted what was now today. Seonghwa buried his face in his hands. Yeosang, being the selfless, chivalrous asshole that he was, had made it clear that although he basically despised Seonghwa and spat on the ground he walked on, he was making sure Seonghwa would escape too. But Seonghwa didn’t know if he wanted to escape. Without truly knowing when he’d be dying, what was the point in living? He’d rather waste away in this dirty cell, starving and stripped of everything that made him human than go out into a world that could kill him at any given moment. Besides, something deep inside of him told him to get back at Yeosang. For terrifying Seonghwa when he knew he was on the verge of mental collapse. For grabbing Seonghwa when he knew he had been begging to not be touched. If Seonghwa made his own decision to rot in this hellhole, it would throw a wrench in the stupidly perfect boy’s stupidly perfect plan. Yeosang would have to live knowing he couldn’t save everyone. He’d have to survive with the knowledge that Seonghwa was imprisoned and dying and there was nothing he or his pretty eyes could do about it. If Seonghwa could have one, albeit spiteful, dying wish, it might just be to die knowing that Yeosang would be hurting and regretful the rest of his life.

 

“You’re the newest one.” A new voice filtered through the air. Seonghwa looked up towards the direction of the voice. The body it belonged to had stood up and began to stumble towards him, grabbing on to each rickety bed frame for stability. When the first rays of morning light caressed the frame of the other boy, Seonghwa was admittedly taken aback. His shirt was more dirt than cloth, filled with holes - the same went for the sweatpants the boy had on. The clothing looked like it was hanging off his sickly thin frame. It didn’t help that the boy was tall; his skin looked sallow and pulled taut across his skin. His collarbones were too prominent, the bags under his eyes too pronounced, the dryness of his lips too apparent. Although his body portrayed him as dull and defeated, there was a light - a glimmer of hope - in his eyes. Seonghwa felt envious. “You’re looking at me like I’m a skeleton. Just ‘cause I’m stuck in a cell with one of eight never seen before marks doesn’t mean I’m dead yet, you know?” The boy stepped closer to Seonghwa’s bed, certain to stay standing decently far away from the boy. “May I sit?” He asked pointing to the mattress.

 

Seonghwa looked away, and nodded his head. “Just don’t touch me.”

 

The boy smiled, and for a moment, it looked as if he’d never experienced the suffering that this near prison brought him. “Wouldn’t dream of it, man. Looks like you’ve been through a lot. So, final test subject, I presume you’ve got a name?”

 

“Seonghwa. Park Seonghwa.” Seonghwa’s tone was questioning, making it sound like he wasn’t sure of his own name. But Seonghwa’s life had been turned upside down and ruined beyond repair. Was there anything he could be sure of? “And you?”

 

“Jeong Yunho. I’m sure you’ve heard my name thrown around.” It made perfect sense; that’s why this boy seemed so gaunt and frail - he had been in this waking nightmare for a little over three months. Seonghwa tensed, not knowing how to react. Yunho’s face was streaked with dirt, and dried tracks of what appeared to be a rusty brown sentence dipped down from his hairline. Seonghwa could only assume it was dried blood.

 

“Yeah. I’ve heard your name.” Normally, Seonghwa would have added a sarcastic comment like ‘it’s kind of difficult not to when you were the first kidnapped kid’, but that was the Seonghwa that believed he had something to truly live for. Now, he was just apathetic. Life was unfair, existence as humanity knew it was fleeting.

 

“You aren’t yourself.” Yunho stated. The way he was looking Seonghwa made the the boy feel more than a bit unsettled; his eyes appeared to be dissecting Seonghwa more and more with every passing second. “Something about you just isn’t you.”

 

“Please stop staring at me like that.” Seonghwa mumbled, disregarding what Yunho had said.

 

“Sure.” Yunho averted his gaze, another bright smile forming on his face. “I do - did? I don’t really know… - dance at Chung-Ang, but I studied psychology. I guess I’m just used to trying to figure out how humans work, what makes them tick, y’know? Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, I’m just not used to trying to figure out someone. Both Jongho and Yeosang were pretty easy for me to read, but you’re an enigma, Seonghwa. It’s intriguing.”

 

“Um…” Seonghwa folded his arms over his chest. “Thank you…? Was that supposed to be a compliment, or…?” “An observation, really.” Yunho was still not turning his eyes on Seonghwa, although his body faced him. “You’re closed off. Recent trauma’s got you deteriorating. You don’t know what to do, and you’re overall just despairing. There’s a front that you put up - walls, if you will - to protect yourself, but they’re crumbling.” Seonghwa didn’t reply, he just shifted around on the bed. “Don’t get freaked out, I’m just good at understanding people. If you want the playing field to be even, I can tell you some things about me, although I’m not the most interesting person there is.”

 

Before Seonghwa could decide if he wanted to know about the clearly extroverted Yunho, who somehow hadn’t lost his spirit after months of this imprisonment, the room sprang to life. The soft murmur of mixed voices sounded from the pushed together beds, sending Seonghwa back into his hastily created shell. He angled himself away from the beds, a hushed and rushed “Please leave.” directed towards Yunho leaving his lips. The other boy complied with a nod, and stood up, wobbling on his feet. Seonghwa watched how another tall boy was on his feet immediately, seizing Yunho by the waist before he could collapse to the dusty floor. He whispered something to Yunho that made a smile break out on his malnourished face.

 

How they already had some sort of family unit was beyond Seonghwa’s comprehension skills. Yeosang had been taken a little less than a full day before him, but he had already asserted himself as a substantial part of what the seven boys had - he was the second person over to Yunho, dragging him across the room and making him lie down. Then again, Seonghwa had been gone a three extra days. Sitting tied down in that dark room. Alone. If the other boys registered Seonghwa’s presence, they didn’t acknowledge it. Seonghwa couldn’t decide whether he loved it or hated it. Since college began, he had always had all eyes on him. He was the popular boy, the one everyone wanted to be. By now, Seonghwa was used to constant attention and consistent praise. But in here, there were were seven boys that just looked past him like he wasn’t even there. Seonghwa already felt infinitesimal, like he could fade at any moment, and nothing in the world would change - certain people might get happier - but at the same time, he didn’t know if he could deal with other people treating him that way.

 

He tried to make it seem like he wasn’t listening in on their conversation, but was desperately attempting to hear what they had to say. He caught phrases like “He was a Yellow, right?” and “He looks like he hasn’t slept in ages…”, with the occasional “I’ve seen him around campus before.” and put all his willpower into not clenching his fists.

 

It felt like Seonghwa no longer had any fight inside of him, but something about the way they were all talking about him like he wasn’t there brought back memories that were all too painful. When his father would have men over to do a numerous amount of things - mostly drink and gamble - and they’d all talk about Seonghwa, Sujin, and their mother liked the three of them didn’t exist. Seonghwa remained unmoving on the unsteady bed except for his head, which turned harshly towards the group of boys, his piercing glare meeting the gazes of each boy. They all seemed to have different reactions. A boy with long hair looked like he didn’t even register Seonghwa turning towards him. Yunho just gave Seonghwa a sad smile, and the other tall boy that had helped Yunho took a step back, a glint of fear in his eyes. A boy that looked slightly heavier than Yunho, but still unhealthily thin, gave Seonghwa a small smile and wave. The one Seonghwa remembered to be Sannie, or something of that nature, was one of the only two people to lock eyes with Seonghwa and hold the gaze. But besides the eye contact, he made no other movement or emotion. The last boy Seonghwa didn’t know was standing with his arms crossed over his chest in a way that should have looked defensive, but appeared to be outwardly aggressive. He looked at Seonghwa with a puzzled glance. And finally, Yeosang. He returned a glare just as sharp back towards Seonghwa, one that made the boy think solely of his father and his wicked ways.

 

“You all know I’m here, right?” Seonghwa spat, his eyes darkening. “Kinda fucking disrespectful, don’t you think?” Seonghwa was pleased when some of the boys looked down and to the sides, squirming uncomfortably. His night of insomnia, the few hours he spent accepting the inevitability of his near death had allowed his defenses the time to rebuild. Especially now that they were all awake, he couldn’t be the scared little boy Yeosang had carried back. He needed to be strong, needed to prove who was on the top of the food chain. It didn’t matter that their colors were gone and their numbers were replaced with a hollow zero; Seonghwa was a Yellow at heart. Status and stability were his clothing, arrogance and narcissism were his shield. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have his status anymore or that his arrogance was never anything more than a facade, Seonghwa needed to keep his guise strong. Why else was he an actor? His satisfied smirk dropped when he heard an unintelligible whisper from Yeosang. “What was that, asshole?” He questioned, words oversaturated with poison.

 

“I said,” Yeosang shot back with an equal amount of venom. “You’re the last person that gets to talk about disrespect. We all know who you are, Seonghwa. Sure, in the daylight you’re practically living the idol life, what with your friends and your popularity and your status. But once the moon comes out, all you are is a b-”

 

Yeosang didn’t get the chance to finish his insulting tirade. During the midst of his cut-off speech, Seonghwa had pushed himself off of the bed and strode towards Yeosang, ignoring the pain in his body from a mix of hunger and exhaustion and the events of yesterday, pushing past anyone in his way. Right before Yeosang truly had the chance to say anything, Seonghwa’s left hand clamped down over his mouth, his right hand closing around the front of the boy’s shirt. If not for his weakness after three days of no food and water, he could have easily lifted Yeosang off the ground from his shirt alone. At least the small height difference worked in his favor of the intimidation factor. “Don’t. You. Fucking.  _ Dare.  _ To try and speak to me like that. Ever.”

 

The room fell silent. Yeosang’s eyes narrowed into thin slits, his now closed mouth grimacing. Slowly, he lifted his hand and closed it around Seonghwa’s left wrist. The same wrist with the blackened zero. The same wrist that was torn and bloody from Seonghwa’s own incessant scratching. Yeosang could feel how Seonghwa tensed as he tightened his grip, both from a mix of physical pain of feeling dirtied skin against his bare wounds and emotional pain as memories of what had to be Void resurfaced. He could see it in Seonghwa’s eyes - the same spike of fear that was there when what was really going to happen to him had first set in the boy’s head. And as sick as it was, he relished in the power he currently held over the older boy. Seonghwa had been nothing short of a major asshole to the entire Blue population - there were people he had hurt. Wasn’t it only fair for Yeosang to make Seonghwa hurt too, on behalf of all Blues? He wrenched Seonghwa’s hand off of his mouth easily, almost laughing at how limp the boy became after Yeosang had grabbed his wrist. “You have no authority, no superiority. I can do whatever the hell I want,” Yeosang growled, glaring daggers into Seonghwa’s very soul with his killing blow. “Pretty boy.”

 

With just those two words, Seonghwa shut down. His arm dropped from Yeosang’s shirt instantly, and he had stopped trying to pull his other arm out of Yeosang’s grip. Yeosang’s hand around him morphed into one of the manacles. He was no longer standing in the middle of a dirty cellar, he was being held down on the floor of that godforsaken room. Void’s hands were around him and on him and in him. Seonghwa could feel it all again as if it had never ended. But the worst of it was hearing Void’s voice fall out of Yeosang’s lips. Calling him ‘pretty boy’, telling him to be a ‘good boy’, forcing him to watch the horrendous scene unfold in the mirror. Seonghwa stumbled backwards. Yeosang let go of his wrist. Seonghwa was staring out into the abyss, sucked back into traumatic memory. His knees were buckling underneath him, but nobody rushed to his side to help him out. He crashed to the ground, tucking his knees into his chest and not daring to make eye contact with any of the boys. He was weak. Vulnerable. Ready to be violated again if that was what was wanted. His breathing was harsh and ragged, his rocking back and forth causing his dirty clothes to rustle, but at least his tears were silent this time.

 

Yeosang was standing pretty triumphantly, at least until Yunho grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face him. Yeosang practically shrank under Yunho’s angry stare - although sickly thin, the boy was intimidating when he wanted to be, his massive height also helping in that regard. “You’re being an asshole.” The way Yunho said it was very matter-of-factly, and it made Yeosang want to shrivel up. Yunho was always relieving tensions in the groups and stopping fights before they happened. He never got angry with someone, at least not until now. “I talked to him for a bit earlier. He’s not a bad person. Whatever you said, that fucking screwed him up.” Yeosang winced; Yunho rarely ever cursed. “And you did it on purpose. Take a step back and really think about that for a moment.” Yeosang averted his gaze, his shoulders hunched up to his ears, embarrassment framing his face red.

 

“Guys?” Wooyoung’s voice was small and hesitant. “I don’t wanna interrupt, um, whatever just happened, but, uh…” He scratched the back of his head - it highlighted how small and frail his arms looked. Of course, there was a reason Wooyoung’s voice was so hushed. He stood by the cell door which had swung open and now hung ajar, a mangled bobby pin in his hand. “I think it’s time to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah I really hope everyone enjoyed reading this update! I feel like I left if off at a bit of a cliffhanger, but hopefully that'll just convince you readers to stick around! All the other boys are now fully involved and ready to escape!! Well, I mean... Seven of them are ready... *dramatic piano in the background*
> 
> Have a healthy day/night, atiny!! I love you all <3


	5. The Kids From Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Go, make your grand fuckin’ escape. If you can, that is… If you really think you can do this, you’re even sicker in the head than I am… So? Go, get out, live your lives. But for how long? You’ve all got zeroes, don’t try to kid yourselves. You’ll drop dead soon enough, same as me. So what’s the point in getting out? Wanna say your goodbyes? To your fucking family and friends, because you’re fucking lucky enough to have them?” It was silent, except for Seonghwa’s heavy breathing. “Stop fucking staring at me, get the fuck out… And Yeosang?” The boy in question tensed, puzzled as to why Seonghwa would be saying his name of all people. “Remember my face so you know who the fuck it is haunting your every waking nightmare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bad author for not updating for a little over 2 months so yes feel free to put my head on a stake let's get it,,,,,,, but my writer's drought is gone now !! so to anyone that's read some of my other works, please know that I have a lot of upcoming ideas and plans and such, and that i'll do my best to provide for you all in a timely fashion !! fighting !! also, this chapter is shorter than the other ones by a pretty decent amount, which is one of the reasons it took me so long to get it out. which sounds confusing, but I had a mindset of "people wont like it unless it's long" (that's what she said lmaooo) and I kept trying to flesh things out to the point where they sounded boring. and then I realized - this is an action-packed chapter. the length doesn't matter, not when the content is a non-stop frenzy. so uh,, yeah !! also ghjskgshkj pls remember that "supernatural elements" are in the tags for a reason
> 
> warnings - graphic depictions of violence, death, and overall just,, feelings,,,,, lots of them
> 
> I hope you all enjoy !!

There was a mix of admiration and pride in Yunho’s eyes when he looked over at Wooyoung, but admittedly, there was also an overwhelming gleam of fear that he tried desperately to hide. It was stupid - and Yunho knew it - but he wasn’t entirely sure they could make it out. That  _ he  _ could make it out. Even though Yunho had been the kind of guy to make light of the horrendous situation at hand, what with his comments like “I’m not a skeleton yet, guys, calm down.”, he knew there had to come a time where it was critical to face the facts. And it seemed like that time was now. The bigger part of him had given up hope when it came to escape, but then Yeosang came and inspired them all with his dreams of a valiant triumph and successful breakout. The shorter boy had mapped out where the underground building’s exit was, and knew how to get there, but now it was a matter of actually getting there. It would require agility. Speed. Stealth. Qualities that Yunho possessed - but not after three months of near starvation. He was largely skin and bones, and could barely stand without getting dizzy and almost collapsing in on himself. To sprint out of some underground prison? It seemed unlikely at best. “Awesome, Wooyoungie…” He whispered in spite of his worries. “Start getting ready, everyone. Don’t take anything except yourselves.” The words - orders - tasted strange coming out of Yunho’s mouth. The boy still had no idea as to why he had been unofficially named the leader of their small… Unit? Brotherhood? Group of trauma victims? Was it because he’d been here the longest? Yunho didn’t know why. And in complete transparency, he didn’t believe he knew all that much, so he was consistently confused as to why it was him who gained that position of leadership. Everyone was looking at him, save for Seonghwa who still had his face buried in his arms, and Yeosang who was sulking like a toddler placed in time-out. It was nerve-wracking. “I… Uh, I guess we need to go now? Yeosang knows more about the escape than me…”

 

Hongjoong was standing a little ways away from the crowd, staring at the spiderweb cracks in the ceiling like he was studying them. Yunho felt his heart swell - he had formed an instant connection with the older boy and his reticent smiles, soft and distant laughter, and beautiful soul. Yunho walked over to him - although ‘staggered’ would be a more accurate representation - and braced his destitute weight against the dirty wall. “Hey…” Yunho mumbled, his voice just above inaudible. He waved his hand in a calling manner, beckoning Hongjoong to come closer. He was who Yunho trusted the most with these kinds of thoughts. And Yunho didn’t want anybody else to hear them; they had to focus on more important things. Themselves. “I need to ask you something. A favor.” Hongjoong just nodded, eyes wide as he stared up at Yunho. “Don’t stay back for me. I… Let’s be real here. Honest, for just one moment, okay? I know I’m nothing more than skin and bones. I don’t need a mirror to tell me I look like shit, I… I feel it. I feel the fact that I’m  _ weak  _ and unable to do things that three months ago were a part of my daily life. And I’m not an idiot. I know the kind of exertion it’s going to take to escape. And I know I can’t handle it. Not physically. So just… If I go down…  _ When  _ I go down… You tell the others to not spare me a second glance. I love you guys, so much… So if I have to make one little sacrifice to save all six-” Yunho’s voice faltered, and his gaze flitted over to Seonghwa, who seemed to still be in the same position, Yeosang now crouched next to him. And sure, he didn’t know Seonghwa that well, but it didn’t matter. Yunho had a big heart, he could fit love for another person inside of it. “All  _ seven _ of you… It’s one I’m willing to make. Happy to make. So if you see me go down, hear me go down, whatever it is… You forget I was ever here in the first place, and you go.”

 

“Yunho, you know there’s no way in hell I’d ever leave you behind.” Hongjoong looked appalled at Yunho’s ‘request’. He  _ was  _ appalled. To hear Yunho talk like this, the one that always knew how to make anyone smile in the darkest of times, was frightening. And Hongjoong wouldn’t stand for it. “We’re together in this. One team, all of us. So if you think I’d ever l-”

 

“I don’t want to hear it.” Yunho tried to stop the shaking in his voice. He bent down slightly, placing the lightest of kisses against the crown of Hongjoong’s head. “Please, hyung. I want you saving yourself. Now come on already, we can’t miss our opportunity.” Hongjoong scowled, mind already leaving the planes of reality so he could ponder ways to skirt around Yunho’s request, but let himself be led closer to the open door, where almost all the other boys were waiting.

 

Yeosang was not one of the boys waiting by the door. Instead, he was more than a bit pissed off, to say the least. For the past few minutes he’d been crouched by Seonghwa’s side, fighting the never-ending urge to roll his eyes as he attempted to convince the boy to just stand up and get over himself. Okay, sure, maybe calling him ‘pretty boy’ was uncalled for. But Seonghwa had always put other people down, and for things they couldn’t control. Didn’t he deserve to feel some of that crushing pain for himself? Deep in Yeosang’s heart, he knew he had been in the wrong. Those words, that name, all it did was bring up fresh trauma for Seonghwa. It didn’t help anything. All Yeosang did was twist the dagger in a still bleeding wound. And now, Yeosang had to sweep up the broken pieces that sat before him, at least enough so that Seonghwa would get up himself. Yeosang had made up his mind that he was getting everyone out alive, and that mindset wasn’t going to change. Especially not for an insufferable Yellow -  _ former  _ Yellow. "Will you just get up already? This self-sacrificing martyr crap is bullshit, Seonghwa. If you wanna call me a bitch and hate me the rest of your life, go right the fuck ahead. But the Seonghwa I know - and despise - isn't the type of person to back down from anything or anyone. So snap. The fuck. Out of it. We need to leave, and we need to leave now." Seonghwa didn’t answer, and Yeosang found that to be more infuriating than a sarcastic comment. He couldn’t even lift his head out from inside the protective cage of his arms to look up at Yeosang. “I’m giving you one more chance to do this the easy way. I don’t know how much you know about morals, but one of mine is that I don’t break promises. And I promised to get everyone out of here. And that means you, asshole.” Once again. No answer. “Okay, that’s it. That’s fucking it.” Yeosang looked up towards the six boys, his eyes hardening like obsidian. “We don’t have any more seconds to spare. Jongho, Mingi, grab his arms, legs, whatever. We’re leaving. Now.”

 

And Seonghwa sprung to life. His head shot up wildly, and he regarded Yeosang with feral, bloodshot eyes. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me, I swear to God I’ll have your head on a fucking stake you suicidal piece of shit, don’t try and test me, leave me the fuck alone-” It was almost ironic, how in just a few short hours, Seonghwa’s outlook regarding Yeosang had completely changed. He’d gone from begging on the floor for Yeosang not to leave him to screaming with all his scratchy throat would allow for Yeosang to get away from him. “You wanna get everyone outta here? Well guess what, bitch, guess fucking what? I think I’m gonna let myself die in here.” Seonghwa, somehow, was grinning, albeit maniacally. “I’ll fuckin’ die in here, waste away and rot, and you’ll have to live knowing you broke one of your almighty promises. Sound fun, Blue? Because it sure as hell does for me- But I wish you could stay and watch, you know? Maybe Void himself can come in here, put a bullet through my skull. You watched his men beat me, you watched him fuck me, now you can watch him blow my brains out. And I’ll make fuckin’ sure you have a front row seat.” The boys, even Yeosang, all recoiled at this. Except for Yeosang, they hadn’t known what happened to Seonghwa to make him as skittish and aggressive as he was, but they sure did now. It was like the perfectly poised boy they’d all known of in university was deteriorating in front of them, tear streaked face and bloody wrists complementing his matted hair and wild eyes. “Go, make your grand fuckin’ escape. If you can, that is… If you really think you can do this, you’re even sicker in the head than I am… So? Go, get out, live your lives. But for how long? You’ve all got zeroes, don’t try to kid yourselves. You’ll drop dead soon enough, same as me. So what’s the point in getting out? Wanna say your goodbyes? To your fucking family and friends, because you’re fucking lucky enough to have them?” It was silent, except for Seonghwa’s heavy breathing. “Stop fucking staring at me, get the fuck out… And Yeosang?” The boy in question tensed, puzzled as to why Seonghwa would be saying  _ his _ name of all people. “Remember my face so you know who the fuck it is haunting your every waking nightmare.”

 

“Jongho, Mingi, I said grab him.” Yeosang’s voice was flat and emotionless, the complete opposite of Seonghwa’s heightened, raging emotions. “Now.”

 

“I said don’t fucking touch m-” What would have been Seonghwa’s second tirade was silenced by Yeosang’s hand slapping down over his mouth. His danger sensors raised instantly, and he was transported back to when he’d been forced face-down against the ground right before he was taken to this hellhole in the first place. He was too inebriated to fight then, but now? Now, Seonghwa could fight back to his heart’s content. He could bloody Yeosang up, red rivers flowing around his too fucking pretty eyes. And he’d love to do so. His arms lifted, fists already aimed towards any easily accessible part of Yeosang’s body, but someone had grabbed his arms, pinning them behind his back. Through the blood roaring in his ears, he heard his name thrown out by someone Seonghwa couldn’t care to identify. Jongho. One of the kids Dahyun knew. Seonghwa whipped his head to the side - the bones in his neck making an ugly cracking sound - and freed his mouth from out behind Yeosang’s palm. “Jongho.” Seonghwa didn’t do so much as look in the younger boy’s direction. “Remember Dahyun?” Jongho stiffened. “She almost broke down reading that you’d been taken, same for when San was abducted. She said you were nice. Wonder how she’d feel if she knew you were holding her best friend against his will after he’d been assaulted…”

 

“She’d thank me for saving your life.” Jongho’s voice was soft and quiet, a stark contrast to his crushing strength. “She talked about you a lot. She loves you with all her heart. She wants you alive.” Regardless of what Jongho had said, Seonghwa snarled and kept trying to wrestle his way out of the younger’s iron grip, but his exhaustion rendered him near useless, although it couldn’t curb the rabid fervor he possessed. The other kid, who must have been Mingi, stepped forward then, and circled his hands around Seonghwa’s ankles, locking his flailing legs in place. And just as if Seonghwa were a wild, feral, caged animal, it raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and made his struggling all the more violent. He heard one of them curse in a moment of pain, and Seonghwa grinned. Fuck them for trying to get him out of here, fuck them for being fucking  _ Yeosang’s  _ minions, fuck them for blatantly disrespecting his boundaries.

 

Yunho’s heart was aching as he looked at the scene taking place on the floor just a few meters away. Only a few hours ago, he had talked to Seonghwa for the first time. Found out a few things. Like how he was a good person, under all his barbed wire walls. How he was just a boy, a kind soul buried under what looked like years of hurt, compounded by the recent events that had just been shed with light. How his one and only request was a timid, broken, “Just don’t touch me.” Yunho’s mind was warring with itself. On one hand, he should be the one to step over, yell at the three boys - although confrontation was never one of his strong points - to leave Seonghwa alone. Clearly, he had an issue with physical contact that was being disregarded. But on the other hand… It was obvious that this was the only way to get Seonghwa out - and Yunho wanted to get him out. Something about the boy just piqued Yunho’s interest; maybe it was the fact that he seemed to be such an enigma, and Yunho’s psychology major was looking for a real-life case. Regardless, Yunho knew he needed to get Seonghwa out of here. Wooyoung, Hongjoong, and San were all peering at the spectacle with varying degrees of discomfort. “Guys…” Yunho tried to make his voice sound more authoritative than it usually did. “Come on. This isn’t our place to interfere. Let’s go, they’ll catch up. The guards are going to be making their rounds at any moment, we can’t run into them. We don’t know what these marks mean, remember? I’ve told you all this before… We need to live like we can die at any moment.” It was a chilling statement, but a true one. People didn’t fear death in this world. They knew the approximate time frame of when it was coming, and they knew the relative cause of it. But now… Yunho didn’t want to think about it. He closed his eyes for a moment, much to the confusion and worry of the boys standing in front of him. They could die.  _ He  _ might die. Yunho exhaled, albeit shakily, and cleared his throat. He’d had a pretty good run. His main goal in life was to help people, and, well, if he had to trade his life for seven others… It was a sacrifice he was willing to make. 

 

“Okay.” The small statement from Hongjoong was accompanied by a knowing look, no doubt referring to the private conversation they’d had just moments ago.  And with that, Yunho sighed as he ushered himself and the other three boys through the open door. But it wasn’t without sparing a glance to look back at how Yeosang, Mingi, and Jongho - yes, Yeosang now had to join the physical force of things - were starting to,  _ attempting  _ to, rather, drag Seonghwa towards the door.

 

“You fucking bitches, all of you, let me the fuck go, or I swear I will kill you and have fucking fun doing it-” Seonghwa’s words were running together, and his head was swimming, the walls of the cell morphing into the walls of… That room. Jongho’s hands turned into manacles, Mingi’s grip changed into chains, and Yeosang’s unrelenting grasp on the back of his neck - which Yeosang had truthfully only done because with the way Seonghwa was whipping his head around, thrashing violently, the possibility of him getting seriously injured was high - felt all too much like Void’s hand. Seonghwa wanted to cry - there were already tears forming in his eyes from the memory of the recent trauma coming back - but his pride wouldn’t let him. Even with all he’d been through, with how much he hurt - both physically and emotionally - he wouldn’t let his pride disappear. It was his defense. His shield. He was above crying, above begging. “I don’t know if you bastards think I’m serious, but I fucking am.” Yeosang twisted his fingers in the matted strands of Seonghwa’s hair, stopping the frantic movement of his head, and looked down directly into his eyes. “What?” Seonghwa taunted. For a moment, it looked as if his dark brown eyes shifted a tone darker. “If you hate me so much, why are you trying to get me out? Wouldn’t it be so much easier to leave me here and make your grand escape? Leave me and let Void have his way with his ‘pretty boy’ until he fuckin’ drops dead?” Seonghwa’s stomach was turning, a wave of nausea rising up as a reaction to his last statement. “I don’t want to be saved. So why are you still trying?”

 

This wasn’t the Seonghwa that Yeosang knew. And Yeosang wanted nothing more than to get the older boy, he didn’t know,  _ fixed  _ back to where he’d been before he was taken. He wanted to hate Seonghwa, for all the hate he’d given to the Blues. But looking down at the bruised, bloody, broken boy below him… He couldn’t hate Seonghwa. At least not this version of him. “Because I’m not letting you die.” Oh. Yeosang wasn’t expecting those words to leave his mouth, but… It was true. Yeah, Seonghwa was a bit of an asshole at times. He succumbed to believing stereotypes, which sucked, but it was how he was raised. But he didn’t deserve to die. “I’m not letting you die.” He repeated, this time with more conviction. “Now please, Seonghwa, let us go. Leave.  _ Help  _ you.”

 

_ I don’t deserve your help.  _ Seonghwa thought, his heart still racing from the adrenaline.  _ I don’t deserve anyone’s help. I hurt people. I have hurt people, I do hurt people, I will hurt people. It’s in my blood. I’m my father’s son, after all. So let me die, and then I won’t hurt anybody anymore.  _ “I don’t need you to help me.”

 

Yeosang just sighed, and let his hand fall from Seonghwa’s hair. “I don’t care. I’m doing it anyway.” He nodded to Jongho and MIngi, who tightened their grip and started really moving, Seonghwa - still fighting against his captors - in tow. Jongho’s impressive strength had allowed him to lift Seonghwa up to his feet, leaving Mingi with the opportunity - which he took - to lift the shorter boy off the ground entirely. And although Seonghwa was shouting and kicking as best he could, it didn’t matter. They were mobile. All of them. They were escaping.

 

Yeosang was the fastest out of them all. He had only been in this hell for somewhere around a week - but the days all blended together. Much less time compared to anyone else, save for Jongho, but the youngest was weighed down by Seonghwa. San, Hongjoong, Yunho, and Wooyoung had only been slowly, silently, inching their way down the musty corridor, waiting for Yeosang to come. It was him who had mapped out where they needed to go, him who would direct them to freedom. Under Yunho, it was Yeosang who the boys trusted the most to get them out of this prison. And it was easy for Yeosang to catch up to the small crowd as they crept along, his footsteps hitting soundlessly against the concrete. “Alright, guys, how’s it going?”

 

“Yeosang, I care about you and all, but I’m gonna have to ask you to shut the hell up, because the guards could be out here, somewhere. And I don’t think alerting them is the best course of action.” San’s voice was a hushed, raspy whisper, but it got the message across. That was one of the many things about San they all liked. He was blunt, honest, and to the point. It was refreshing.

 

“Okay, got it. We gotta pick up the pace though. We…” Yeosang’s whispers trailed off as he glanced back at Mingi and Jongho, still struggling to quite literally  _ drag  _ Seonghwa along. Jongho, god bless his strength, had been able to move one of his hands to cover Seonghwa’s mouth, stifling his screams, all the while keeping his arms locked in place. Good. Yeosang couldn’t risk Seonghwa jeopardizing any of their chances.  _ No, dumbass…  _ said the voice in Yeosang’s mind.  _ You’re happy because you want to get him out, even if you aren’t admitting it. Now stop being an emotionally unavailable idiot, and start running.  _ “We need to pick up the pace.”

 

Something akin to fear flashed in Yunho’s eyes for a split second, but he pushed it down before it could truly be noticed and registered. “Yeah.” He agreed breathlessly - that was it; he was already out of breath just from a bit of walking. “Let’s go, everyone.” If he sounded more than a bit choked up, nobody mentioned it. Nobody wanted to quicken their pace. They were all famished, all exhausted. But someone had to do it. So Yunho made it himself.  _ If I can do one last thing, please, let it be saving them from this nightmare…  _ He didn’t look back at anyone - it would have made things too painful. His fists clenched, the action most likely taking what remained of his strength. Yeosang had already told him the paths they needed to take. The way to get out. The different twists and turns in the maze-like prison. Yunho could lead them out. He could do it. He started running.

 

His head started swimming from the moment his sneaker slapped the concrete. His vision instantly became bordered by black spots, and the immediate dizziness he felt was almost enough to make him topple over. But he couldn’t. Not yet. As moronic as it sounded, Yunho didn’t even know if he was breathing. With his thoughts focused solely on staying upright, pushing harder, running faster, something as trivial as breathing seemed unimportant. Maybe looking back was the one mistake he’d made. After all, his advice to Hongjoong was that if -  _ when  _ \- he collapsed, he shouldn’t look back. Not once, not for half a second. That would only bring too many risks. Yunho didn’t know how far they’d been running, he didn’t know how fast they were really going, he didn’t know exactly where he was, and was just letting his feet carry him. And when he took a moment to glance backwards, he was… Happy. They were all following him, through their exhaustion, giving him that trust… But when he turned around, something felt… Off. Wrong. Definitely not okay. His blood was running hot. His skin felt cold. Everything was loud. Then silent. And why were the walls spinning? Why were they just becoming blurrier and blurrier until he couldn’t see them? Why couldn’t he feel the hard floor under his feet? And… Why did everything fade to black?

 

“No!” Hongjoong’s shout ripped through the halls, and he couldn’t care about being quiet. One moment, everything was fine. Everything was looking good, Yunho had just turned around, made eye contact with Hongjoong and smiled, even. And the next moment, Yunho’s legs were buckling underneath him, and all 184 goddamn centimeters of him were crashing to the ground. Everyone came to a reeling halt. But how could they not? This was Yunho -  _ their  _ Yunho - the pinnacle of emotional strength and willpower, unmoving on the ground. “No, no, Yunho, no, stop, come on, we need to go-” Hongjoong had dropped to his knees, and was leaning over Yunho’s body, holding his hands, nearly in tears, as if his pleading would wake the boy back up.  _ “So if you see me go down, hear me go down, whatever it is… You forget I was ever here in the first place, and you go.”  _ Yunho’s words from earlier rang in Hongjoong’s head like bells, loud and overwhelming. Well, screw that. Screw Yunho’s stupid selflessness. Hongjoong looked up at all the other boys, crowding around him and Yunho. It was silent and stagnant. Even Seonghwa had stopped his struggling, paralyzed and stricken with fear. The expression was worn on everyone’s face. And on Wooyoung’s… Hongjoong’s stomach churned painfully. He looked exactly as weak as Yunho did before they started to run, and was clinging to San’s shoulder as if it were his life support, which meant it was only a matter of time before… No. That kind of thought process was one Hongjoong couldn’t afford to have. “I… We…” Hongjoong tried to organize his thoughts, but nothing was working. “Someone help me get him up. He’d breathing. He’s alive. I don’t fucking care what the marks say, he’s alive. We’re getting out, alive, all of us.”

 

“He didn’t want us to know he was feeling this weak, didn’t he?” San asked quietly. “He wanted us to just up and leave if something like this happened.” The painful weight of realization was settling around San, making his chest squeeze uncomfortably. “Right?” His question was directed at Hongjoong.

 

“I don’t care what he wanted.  _ Wants. _ I asked someone to help me get him up, and I’m… I’m not waiting around to ask again.” Words that sounded like orders felt strange coming from Hongjoong’s mouth, but he swallowed the bitter taste. “Or do you want us all to be known as the boys that let Jeong Yunho die?”

 

“Okay. Noted.” San bent down just a few centimeters before remembering he was already supporting Wooyoung’s body weight. “I, uh… If someone else could do that, it would be great.” Yeosang nodded at that, and became the one to bend down to help lift Yunho off the ground. He had landed face-first, and when both Yeosang and Hongjoong had mustered the strength to roll the taller boy over onto his back, they winced. Across his left cheek stretched a sizeable gash, skin scraped up and peeling off as a result from skidding across the concrete. And yeah, there was blood. A fair amount of it. It pooled from the cut across Yunho’s face and ran in rivulets down his skin, a few drops splashing against the ground, staining the muted gray with crimson. Yeosang grimaced, and bent down so that his head rested against Yunho’s chest. There was a pulse. A heartbeat. He was breathing. He was alive. Exhaling a sigh of relief, Yeosang looped his arms around Yunho’s chest, wincing as he started lifting him up, thankfully with Hongjoong’s aid. Sure, Yunho was drastically underweight, after months of nearly starving, but he was still deadweight in both their arms, big and heavy.

 

“Joong-hyung, would you be alright with taking him? Without Yunho…” He trailed off as he glanced down at the boy hanging between both him and Hongjoong. It felt weird to speak about him when he was right there, even if he was, well… Unable to respond. “To lead the charge, I have to do it. Are you okay with that? Like, physically?”

 

“Sure.” Hongjoong deadpanned. Yeosang wasn’t able to discern if he was being facetious or not. “Give the shortest one the weight of the unconscious biggest one. That works. Totally.” Yeosang faltered for a moment before opening his mouth to try and get the beginnings of a sentence out, but Hongjoong cut him off with a few more terse statements. “I’ve got it. Go. Lead.”

 

“Okay. Yeah.” Yeosang took a moment to regain his bearings. Where exactly were they? Had they gone the right way? Yunho said he knew the paths. He  _ did  _ know them. They were in the right place, yes, there was the familiar notch in the wall to Yeosang’s right, followed by the modern art painting some meters ahead. So then why did something feel wrong? Yeosang outwardly shook his head, as if that would have gotten him out of his own intrusive thoughts. “Why the hell are we all still standing here? Let’s go.” Yeosang didn’t wait for any agreement or any opposition. He turned on his heels and ran, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t leaving anybody in the dust. San had Wooyoung - who couldn’t be trusted to stand upright on his own anymore, let alone sprint down a maze of corridors -, Hongjoong had Yunho, and Mingi and Jongho were… They were  _ managing  _ with Seonghwa. So him running ahead was okay. If there was danger, he’d be there to combat it. But there wouldn’t be. They had time. They  _ had  _ to have time. If not… They’d be dead. No other way about it.

 

Their footsteps were getting progressively louder. Yeosang’s increased in frequency, Hongjoong’s became much heavier, and Wooyoung’s sneakers were squeaking against the ground from the pace San had started to drag him - yes,  _ drag  _ him - along at. They had an order that was seemingly slowly devolving into chaos. And it was terrifying. He could see the heavy iron doors - the main entrance to this hell - up ahead. The tension was still there, making the hair on the nape of Yeosang’s neck stand on end. Everything felt like it stilled for a moment too long. Yeosang stopped dead in his tracks.

 

And then came the bullets.

 

They seemed to appear out of nowhere. Silence turned to a constant stream of explosions. Gunshots rang out like windchimes, their deadly melody echoing in the corridor. The shock of the jarring noise affected each - conscious and mobile - boy. Wooyoung in his delirium stumbled forward, almost crashing into San. And ironically enough, it was San - the one who had been so focused on keeping silence and stealth as their weapon - let out a petrified scream. Unsurprisingly enough, Hongjoong had already been struggling under Yunho's weight, but as the noise of the gunshots began to carry through the hall, he tensed in shock and almost let Yunho slip off his shoulder. Yeosang cursed under his breath as he whirled around to face the seven others, steeling his gaze as he looked at Jongho and Mingi. Seonghwa’s expression was one that Yeosang couldn’t read, especially coming from the fact that Yeosang could only see his eyes, his mouth still covered by Jongho’s hand. “New objective of the game…” Yeosang breathed out, adrenaline making his hands twitch. “Don’t get shot.” As Yeosang stared down Jongho and Mingi, the unspoken words of “Don't let Seonghwa go.” bled through his gaze.

 

The youngest boy seemed to be the most calm in the erupting chaos; Jongho only nodded and tightened his grip around Seonghwa, disregarding the boy's cursing and protesting. Mingi's eyes were darting around nervously, his gaze flitting erratically at each of the other boys. An agitated and calculating frown spread across his face as he looked back at Jongho. Ever since Mingi had gotten taken, he hadn’t spoken often. His voice, deep as the ocean, was a rarity to come across. And in his little time of being here, Jongho had learned that about the older boy. In fact, he’d gotten to know the other boy fairly well, even though he didn’t talk much. He knew how to read Mingi, which made it easy to have a verbal response to Mingi’s furrowed eyebrows and vague attempts at words. “Yes, hyung. You can let go. I’ve got him. Look after yourself, please?” So Mingi let go, turning his attention back to the end of the hall. The frequency of the shots was increasing exponentially, even though they couldn't yet see their attackers. It forced a fresh rush of adrenaline to pump through the boys' exhausted veins, causing them to look around wildly, a feral glint in their dilated pupils. They were dizzy, their ears were ringing. Their sight was still blurry from sleep and tears of frustration. They’d been disheartened after what happened to Yunho. Looking around wildly, heads snapping left and right, movements jerky as they tried to avoid bullets they couldn’t see… Every sense but their hearing was disoriented. It was what caused them to hear his scream before they saw him fall. The sound was primal, it was pained, it was anguished... It was Mingi. The hall, in its muted gray and brown, that held a copper sheen from the slight trickle of sunlight through the cracked ceiling, exploded in red.

 

At least, it did for Jongho. A scream tore itself from his throat without him even realizing it, and he dropped Seonghwa without caring about the sickening thunk his body made on the concrete. He was seeing red, rage filling every ounce of his body. They… They killed Mingi. They  _ killed  _ Mingi. That wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t- No, it very well could. The incriminating zero across his wrist said it all. Mingi could die. And he did. Jongho couldn’t bring himself to cry. He couldn’t freeze up like everyone else had, terrified to choose between rushing to Mingi and saving their own lives. Jongho had been brought up knowing that the past couldn’t be changed, but that the future was always in his hands. He could mourn later. Once they escaped, he could cry all he wanted about how broken he felt to have Mingi taken from him. From all of them. But right now, feelings didn’t matter. Whoever it was that shot Mingi… They had no idea, no fucking idea, of the hell Jongho could put them through. Someone was screaming for him to stop as he sprinted forward, mind focused on only one thing - revenge. Jongho couldn’t see clearly anymore, his vision was clouding over, except in spots where he could visualize his attackers. It might have been San who gripped his shoulder, spinning him around to shout some sense into him, but Jongho wasn’t sure. And he didn’t care. He shoved San off his shoulder in a heartbeat, the aggression of the act filling a hole inside of Jongho.

 

“Choi Jongho, I swear to god, we can’t lose anyone else-” Yeosang’s voice was strained, coming from where he’d worriedly pressed himself against the brick wall, trying to avoid any more stray bullets that were flying out. “Please, don’t d-”

 

“Save it, Yeosang.” Jongho snarled, dropping any sort of formalities. When he turned to face Yeosang, the older gasped in shock. Jongho was… Not himself. His veins, for starters, were bulging and inky black, the same color as… his new mark. The blood vessels spider-webbing in shades of obsidian across his skin made him look ghastly, but it wasn’t the worst part. His eyes were jet black. Soulless. Inhuman. Yeosang recoiled instantly, which should have clued Jongho in on something being wrong, but the younger wasn’t phased. Jongho turned away again, setting his sights in front of him. The men with guns - six of them? - weren’t  _ men  _ anymore. They were killers. Bodies.  _ Things.  _ They didn’t deserve to live, not when they’d taken Mingi from them all. This wasn’t just ‘eye for an eye’ logic. This was what happened when someone messed with the people Jongho cared about. At least half of the men had dropped their gun when they saw Jongho approaching in all his staggering, endarkened glory. They were terrified of this… this  _ monster  _ on its way towards them, and their fear paralyzed them. Of course. Fear of the unknown. That’s what it always was, wasn’t it?

 

“S-Stay away! We are armed!” One of the men shouted, shaking where terror froze him in place. Oh? This pathetic excuse for a human life wanted to threaten Jongho? After shooting Mingi? Hilarious. He’d make for a great first target. Jongho bit back a growl before stalking forward once more, directly into the circle of six men, two of whom still carried loaded firearms. Jongho stole a second to look down at his wrist, examining how the oily black mark in his skin seemed to pulsate with anger. Jongho felt it in his blood, heat and adrenaline. Power.

 

“You should have picked better last words.” Now, Jongho wasn’t normally an aggressive person. He was violent when he needed to be. A defensive fighter. Until now. A smile split his dirty face when he snapped his neck sideways, a sickening crack sounding throughout the building. In time with the harsh movements, the two guns blew out of the men’s hands, clattering against the floor. ‘They were armed’. Jongho scoffed. Sure they were. He was silent as he crept towards the one man who had been the one to call Jongho out. He was cowering. How fun. Even his screaming made him appear to be smaller, high-pitched and frail. And when Jongho wrapped his left hand around the man’s throat? Even better. He didn’t have to squeeze. He just stood there, hand pressed against the murderer’s neck. His veins. His arteries. His jugular. And he felt his anger flow from his mark, the white-hot pain turning to a hazy rush of power. His vision shifted again, now leaving everything in hyper-focus, only in shades of black, white, or red. The red was the prettiest of all. Jongho almost laughed when he saw the man’s face reddening. He couldn’t breathe, now, could he? And oh, wasn’t that just terrible? His eyes were bulging from his head, moments away from popping out of their sockets as a whole. He was screaming, begging,  _ pleading  _ for mercy. At least, he was doing so as well as he could without air to speak. Why should he get mercy when he’d shot Mingi ruthlessly in cold blood? Jongho’s mark was burning almost painfully. He let his hand contract now, squeezing around the man’s thick neck until his face was purpling, until the screams died, until a bone-chilling crunch silenced all other noise and the man’s head lolled forward. There was blood pooling from behind the man’s eyes, and it looked as if he were crying. Crying blood. Repenting for the death he’d caused. Jongho released his grip and watched the man’s body - corpse - crumple to the floor. So, one of them was taken care of. He shook out his hand, feeling a warm energy spread throughout his body. “So?” He asked cordially. “Who’s next?”

 

“Little boy, I would suggest stopping yourself now. Boss is already going to give you hell enough for killing one of our own, so how abo-” The man didn’t get the chance to finish his statement. Jongho had growled at the man’s pitiful ‘one of our own’, and before he was aware of it, he was grabbing the man’s jaw in one stiff hand, his hair in the other. Harshly, he snapped the man’s head back swiveling his neck around until a loud succession of popping noises entered the area, and the man collapsed to the ground in a similar fashion.

 

“Don’t you fucking  _ dare  _ talk back to me.” Jongho muttered, the pain of losing Mingi rising hot in his chest. Jongho sensed a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye before he saw it, and tried to stifle his laughter at another man’s flailing actions. He was trying, oh so desperately, to grab his gun. As if he could stay silent. As if Jongho wouldn’t realize. Breezily, he stepped over the still twitching body of his first opponent, leaning down with ease to pick up the gun before the sniveling man could. “Lookin’ for this?” Jongho asked. At least by now the men had realized his questions were rhetorical, and he wasn’t being afflicted with nonsensical answers. The man yelped in fear, shielding his face in his hands, like  _ that  _ would do anything to save his worthless life. Jongho paused for a moment, taking in the seconds to sip on his authority, not letting himself get drunk on power, and examined the gun. It was a cool weight in his hand, it carried a metallic, irony scent reminiscent of blood, and was excellent at firing a bullet straight through the skull of the cowering man. Three down; he was halfway there. “I don’t think you’ll be needing this anymore though…” One of the last men standing had been stupid enough to try grabbing for the other gun, and he’d had the lack of balance enough to send him tripping over the corpses of his colleagues. He now looked up at Jongho, sprawled across the floor like helpless prey, fear written plainly in his eyes. Jongho smirked to nobody in particular as he leaned over the man. “How stupid must you think I am?” He questioned, twisting the gun around in his hands. He pointed it at the man’s face, barrel resting against his clammy forehead, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

 

Jongho was admittedly caught off-guard, and cursed under his breath, but he didn’t have the time to be mad when one of the living guardsmen hurled himself at Jongho’s side. Jongho’s reflexes worked faster than his brain processed the information, and by the time his conscious mind had caught onto what was going on, his free hand had already picked the frail man up by his hair and slammed him against the wall. And there it was again, a blood-curdling crunch signifying the snapping of a spinal cord. But back to the problem at hand… The gun, now Jongho’s gun, had run out of bullets. And the man on the floor had the  _ audacity  _ to laugh at him. Jongho bared his teeth in a feral manner, before slamming the butt of the gun down into the man’s skull. Once, twice, over and over until a mangled lump of flesh, blood, and bone was piled where a face should be. “Oh? You think that was funny, too? Good.” And now there was one more… Jongho squared his shoulders as he turned to face the only guard left. He matched Jongho in height, appeared to be well-muscled, and his face was adorned with a shit-eating sneer. Disgusting. Jongho didn’t have the time to wait for the older man to say anything, to do anything. He let his knee come up to slam into the man’s stomach, and smiled when his fist collided with the guard’s jaw, sending him to the floor. And standing over him now, watching panic blow his pupils wide as he was surrounded by the cooling bodies of his coworkers, Jongho couldn’t help but smile. Mingi was irreplaceable, but six for the price of one seemed like the bare minimum of compensation. He let himself shout as he slammed his heel down into his stomach. The agony he was feeling flowed into rage, and Jongho felt cathartic waves roll over him as he kept bringing his foot down into the middle of the dying man’s torso. Jongho grinned as the guard’s screams began to diminish to wet gurgles, frothy blood spraying up from his mouth. Watching the light fade from his eyes, watching the man choke on his own blood… Jongho couldn’t feel remorse. Not after how they’d hurt Mingi.

 

All the other boys - save for Yunho who was still unconscious, and Wooyoung who had blacked out soon after the bullets started coming - were terrified. Jongho was… He was sweet. Gentle, at most times. The only timed they’d ever seen him get violent was protecting… Mingi. Of course. Mingi. Kind, soft, unassuming Mingi. The first casualty out of who knew how many… But still, their loss didn’t fully explain Jongho’s…  _ abilities.  _ How his eyes had turned black along with his blood, how by shifting his head he was able to knock the guns out of people’s hands. It was unexplainable. It was horrifying. And it was understandable for them all to recoil as Jongho spun around, hands speckled with drying blood.

 

The threat was gone. And sure, that was wonderful, but it didn’t matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. Not when _ Mingi  _ was gone. The boy who Jongho thought mattered more than any sort of threat. Jongho could feel his senses start to come back to him as he spun around, but everything fell into place when his gaze rested on Mingi. And the boys could see it, too. They saw the color return to Jongho’s eyes, the raven black fading from his eyes and veins. He was… He was back. Normal. Himself. Jongho felt his mind start to catch up to his body as he stumbled towards Mingi, who lay face-down, unmoving against the floor. He dropped to his knees in front of the older boy, squeezing his eyes shut to block the tears from falling. He was gentle as he took Mingi’s hand in his own. It was silent. Mourning time, Jongho guessed. And then the impossible happened. Mingi’s eyes opened. He looked up at Jongho, alive and breathing.

 

“Acting.” One word from Mingi, and Jongho broke. Everyone collectively gasped - it seemed fake. Mingi had… He had been… He couldn’t have… “I…” Mingi coughed, trying to get the words to come out, as he slowly pushed himself up to a seated position. “You’re strong. You’ll get us out with a reason. I lied. Acted. I was the reason.”

 

“You-” Jongho couldn’t get more than the first word out before the tears spilled, and he fell forward, face-first into Mingi’s chest. He was warm. There. Breathing.  _ Alive.  _ And Jongho had just killed six men to avenge a death that had never occurred. Mingi had faked his death. Because he knew what Jongho would do. Because he knew Jongho would get them a way out. He was… “You are so, so fucking stupid-” Jongho choked out through his steady stream of tears. “I thought I lost you… I thought I fucking lost you, hyung, and I…” Jongho couldn’t bring himself to outwardly admit his crimes.  _ Crimes.  _ He’d killed people. Six people. He’d be put to death undoubtedly, and it terrified him. Jongho tried to make himself smaller completely turned his back to the carnage and pressed himself into Mingi’s chest, grateful for how the taller had sat back and pulled Jongho into his lap. “I killed them.” Jongho’s voice broke in the middle of his confession, and it stilled him for a moment before he started trembling, sobs wracking his body.

 

“I’m… I’m not meaning to interrupt anything, but…” San said cautiously. “Let’s think about this. They’re dead. They were murdered. Which meant their marks should all be zeroes. Purple ones, specifically. But Void isn’t stupid. He wouldn’t let his guards of all people have zeroes as their markings. Something’s wrong. And we need to leave, and we need to find out what the hell it is.”

 

Maybe San was waiting for a response from Jongho or Mingi, but it never came. So Yeosang spoke up instead. “We’ll check their marks when we leave. Now come on, we need to leave.”

 

Jongho couldn’t move. He couldn’t stop his hiccuping sobs. And he definitely couldn’t go outside to a world of cameras, a world of interviews, a world where he’d be punished for his sins - six times over. “You’re hurt.” Mingi whispered, words tasting foreign on his tongue. “I’ll help. But we gotta go now. I’ll take you.” Jongho couldn’t respond. He was still too lost in his head, trapped between relief that Mingi was alive and terror at the repercussions he’d face for being a murderer. He was just barely aware of himself being lifted - Mingi standing up and carrying Jongho’s shaking body bridal-style, hugging him close to his chest, and making sure the younger could hear his heartbeat, making sure he knew he was alive - and tried to nod as best he could, even with his face pressed against Mingi’s body, tears staining his already dirty shirt.

 

San made a note to peer at the mangled pile of bodies as best he could without getting nauseous, and felt chills roll down his spine when he took in the characteristics of the men’s marks. “All different colors. Yellows, Reds, and Purples…” He murmured. “And all different numbers - none of them zero. They shouldn’t be dead. This shouldn’t have happened.” San looked around, exhaustion clear in his eyes. “We need to figure this out. We’re, fricken, we’re… I don’t know, breaking reality?” He paused for a moment, grimacing when he heard no response. “Alright, great answers, yes. Thank you, San, for your insight and observations.” He huffed sarcastically. Making sure Wooyoung was still propped mostly upright and hanging off his shoulder, San began to make the short trek towards the front doors, grumbling under his breath comments about ‘ungrateful friends’ and ‘unappreciated intel’.

 

Hongjoong followed suit with Yunho in tow, remaining unconscious, and Mingi followed, still holding a sobbing Jongho close to his chest. Which - of course - left Yeosang and Seonghwa. The younger stared at the older, who shrunk under his gaze. “You can go, Yeosang.” Seonghwa sounded choked up, and it filled Yeosang with anger.  _ He  _ was upset, after all of this? The one that didn’t want to leave? The one who had caused him so much damn trouble before they’d even left their dingy cell? “I’m serious.” No, he wasn’t. “Just go.” He didn’t want Yeosang to go. “Leave me alone.” Don’t leave him alone.

 

“And what?” Yeosang challenged, his arms folding over his chest. “Wait here another few minutes for Void’s men to be called? Let you die? I already told you, that’s not happening on my watch.”

 

“So then don’t watch.” Seonghwa was monotonous. Serious.

 

“You are so fucking insufferable, just-” Yeosang groaned, stepping forward and grabbing Seonghwa by the front of his ripped apart dress shirt, not bothering to listen for his protests. “Come on. We’re a few meters away from freedom.”

 

Seonghwa’s protests only got louder. He didn’t deserve to get freed like this. He didn’t work for it. He wasn’t the great, awe-inspiring, untouchable Park Seonghwa anymore. He was an abductee. An experiment. He couldn’t just go out into the real world and live on knowing that he could die within a year. He couldn’t run back to reality and exist off of other like he’d been doing before, leaching off of people like Minho, Dahyun, and Jisung. He couldn’t re-enter real life. Except he could. Because Yeosang pulled his shivering body through the heavy double doors. The fresh dusk air hit his skin. A breeze blew through his hair. He saw sky. Street. Buildings. A normal thing, to see the streets of Seoul at sunset, but this felt magical. Liberating. Seonghwa even knew where he was. He could go home from here. He could let himself fall back into a self-driven dark spiral, let himself work himself to near-death, because he didn’t care anymore. He could do it now. He could push all this pain and torture under his skin and forget about it and go back to ruling everywhere he walked. He could. It was possible.

 

“Seo-” Seonghwa stiffened when Yeosang started to address him. What the hell did he want to talk to him for? Did Yeosang want to gloat? Brag about how his asinine mission of saving everyone was a success? Did he want praise? Seonghwa wasn’t about to give it to him. His bruised arm lifted to wrench Yeosang’s hand off of his shirt. And once the grip had been released, well, that right there was true freedom. Seonghwa was free from this nightmare. This way of life. He looked back once at the boys beside him. Bloody, bruised, blacked out, disheveled, dirty… That didn’t have to be him anymore. Without a second gaze backwards, Seonghwa did what he was best at - he ran.

 

He ran with his arms covering his head, blocking his face from any rare passersby. He ran with his head down, not caring for cars or other people. He needed to get out. Get home. Be safe. His feet had a steady pulse against the asphalt of the roads. It changed along with the terrain, softening when he tread on grass, reverberating against tile, and falling soundless against carpet. Tile. Carpet. He was inside. He was home. His hand could barely muster the strength to ball in a fist and knock against his dorm door, but he did it. He did it, god dammit, because that was who he was. He was a fighter. He was strong. He was devoid of emotion. The door then opened, and he was face to face with Minho. His Minho. HIs brother, his best friend, his rock. He was home. Safe.

 

He stumbled through the doorway into his best friend’s arms, and he let his tears fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe just maybe this chapter belonged to jongho and yunho,,,,, sorry but I don't make the rules (,,says the author''',,,,) but our golden boys slayed,, (and in jongho's case, literally,,,,) also sorry to every character for putting you through hell,,,,, notes for next chapter - I want to try to make people cry + seongmin will hurt me and you + :((((((((  
> thank you to everyone that didn't abandon this book even after I was a shit person and went through a writer's drought
> 
> Have an amazing day/night, ATINY!! And m a y b e follow me on twt because I want friends :"""") at @CosmicallyLyss  
> xoxo, Lyss <3


	6. Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Minho had been regaled with the horror stories of Seonghwa’s youth in the months after he’d convinced his family to unofficially adopt the taller. He’d stayed up with Seonghwa until all hours of the night, being a comforting shoulder to cry on when Seonghwa admitted the fate of his sister. Or his mother’s sickness. Or his father’s emotional abuse. And physical abuse. Seonghwa had been thankful, in a strange, sick sort of way, that his father had never gave him any physical scars. Those kinds of marks were reminiscent of a Blue. A group Seonghwa had no association with. A group he was trained and taught to hate. A group he was told to despise, despite the fact that his sister - his big sister, his protector, his favorite person to this day - was a member of that group. He didn’t have any physical scars. So he hadn’t had any connection to the Blues. And after Sujin had taken her own life, Seonghwa no longer had any familial connection to the ticking time bombs who were collectively known as the Blues. But emotional scars? Seonghwa had tons of those. Deep, bloody gashes that ran across his mind, digging up his sense and turning it useless."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm finally back!! I can't believe this is over a month later??? i'm so sorry for the wait :( warnings for this chapter include~  
> \- suicidal thoughts  
> \- minor descriptions of injury  
> \- references to past trauma; abuse and rape  
> \- hella SeongMin feels ;_______________;
> 
> regardless of the content of this chapter, I hope you enjoy!! it isn't tooooo much of a long read, only about 8.8K! I have like 18 notifs in my inbox so i'll be responding to all those very soon hehe~
> 
> happy reading, my lovies!!!

To say the least, Minho was shocked. Amazed. Astonished. Bewildered. Beguiled. Pick any synonym, that’s how Minho was feeling. Because Seonghwa was - he was… - he was home. Here. In Minho’s arms. Sobbing in Minho’s arms, to be exact. It almost didn’t seem real. Quickly, Minho closed the door and locked it, gaining the two of them a sense of privacy, even with the thin walls. Ever since the night of Hyunjin’s party when Seonghwa had gone missing… Minho blamed himself. He should have kept a closer eye on Seonghwa, especially since he knew how fragile he’d been feeling in the previous hours - feeble and exhausted, even vomiting. Minho - although a few months younger - was supposed to be a brother to Seonghwa. A caretaker without the paternal and parental instincts. Minho was supposed to protect Seonghwa, just like he’d done since they met at the riverbed seven years ago. It had taken a little while for Seonghwa to tell him everything; Minho was sure there were some things he still didn’t know, as upset as that made him.

****

But regardless, Minho had been regaled with the horror stories of Seonghwa’s youth in the months after he’d convinced his family to unofficially adopt the taller. He’d stayed up with Seonghwa until all hours of the night, being a comforting shoulder to cry on when Seonghwa admitted the fate of his sister. Or his mother’s sickness. Or his father’s emotional abuse. And physical abuse. Seonghwa had been thankful, in a strange, sick sort of way, that his father had never gave him any physical scars. Those kinds of marks were reminiscent of a Blue. A group Seonghwa had no association with. A group he was trained and taught to hate. A group he was told to despise, despite the fact that his sister - his big sister, his protector, his favorite person to this day - was a member of that group. He didn’t have any physical scars. So he hadn’t had any connection to the Blues. And after Sujin had taken her own life, Seonghwa no longer had any familial connection to the ticking time bombs who were collectively known as the Blues. But emotional scars? Seonghwa had tons of those. Deep, bloody gashes that ran across his mind, digging up his sense and turning it useless. Clawing out his heart and turning it cold. Ripping apart his feelings, telling him crying made him less of a man, scolding him for missing his mother and sister… His father turned him into the young man he was today. His father instilled it in him that emotion was weakness, that strength only existed as something physical. He was responsible for it all. Beating Seonghwa and being the catalyst for him running away after catching the then-teenager for kissing a boy. The harsh words still ran through Seonghwa’s mind.  _ I accept them, son, sure. But no child of mine will grow up to be a nasty fuckin’ faggot. _

****

The first time Seonghwa had uttered those words - curled up in the fetal position on Minho’s bed, staring at his phone screen at the seventeen missed calls from the boy he’d been caught with - Minho was mortified to say the least. The fact that a parent - a  _ parent,  _ who was supposed to love and support their child through everything - could say something like that to their kin, their child, their DNA, their own flesh and blood… It appalled Minho. It disgusted him. It was vile, and by god, it made him appreciate his own parents so fucking much. His mom and dad - a Green and a Purple, although that didn’t really matter - loved him. They loved children in general; it was why they fostered and took in kids of any age, any gender, any sexuality… And most importantly, any mark. In the eyes of the Lee parents, it didn’t matter the color of the death sentence. It didn’t matter the number of the condemnation. A human was a human, a kid was a kid, and they all deserved a warm place to sleep, hot meals to eat, parental figures to love and guide them… Compared to Seonghwa’s experience with his parents - a dead mother and an abusive father - Minho was gold like his mark. And may God smite him down if he ever took his family for granted.

****

Seonghwa hadn’t stopped sobbing. It reminded Minho of the boy’s first night terrors. When Seonghwa had cried out  _ Sujin, please, no… Don’t leave, please, please noona, I don’t know what to do without you. Don’t leave me with father, Sujinnie, please please…  _ and thrashed fitfully in his restless sleep, tears staining the fresh satin sheets. Minho was powerless then. He felt powerless now, too… Maybe even more so. He’d believed he knew what a broken, destroyed Park Seonghwa looked like. Sounded like. Acted like. But this… This was new and gut-wrenching and blood-curdling and scary and unsettling and  _ wrong.  _ Minho - for once in his life, at least since Seonghwa came into it - was at a loss regarding how to try and console his brother. He closed his eyes for a moment. Took in the situation, took in Seonghwa’s body language. Jisung had always been better than him at reading people, and it was one of the main things he was envious of his lover for. Being emotionally available, knowing how to read into people’s psyches and thoughts… Minho just wasn’t the kind of guy to be able to do that. But he tried. He always did - it was all he really could do. Seonghwa had an iron grip on the front of Minho’s shirt, pulling the material taut and stretching it out. But Minho couldn’t care. A ruined pajama shirt was the least of his worries, especially when he’d just gotten Seonghwa back after seconds, minutes, hours,  _ days,  _ of not knowing if he was alive. Minho slowly, carefully lifted up his arms to wrap them around Seonghwa, to pull his chosen family even closer, press him against his chest and make them both believe that Seonghwa was here. Living. Breathing. Alright. But as soon as Minho moved to embrace the other boy, Seonghwa recoiled back with a pitiful “No-”, staggering away and crashing into the doorframe.

****

“Seongie…?” Minho’s voice was barely above a whisper. His head was cocked to the side in pure confusion, brow furrowed and lips pouting. The nickname slipped out on its own accord; Minho had only ever called Seonghwa that around the time they’d first met. The time they’d been emotionally fragile and vulnerable teenagers. “Hwa, what’s wrong, I… I just want to help…” Was that the wrong thing to say? Jisung usually mentioned that telling a person you wanted to help provided them with a sense of security and made them feel better. But this? This was not better. “Seonghwa… I… What happened?” The unspoken words were louder than the audible ones.  _ What did they do to you…  _ “Talk to me, Seonghwa. Please. I-” Minho felt something hot roll down his cheeks, collecting at his jawline before harmlessly crashing to the floor. Since when had he been crying? “I’m your best friend. Your brother. Your ride-or-die wingman loveable idiot roommate. The person you love. And trust. Please, Hwa, talk to me, I… I want to help, but I can’t do that if I’m left in the dark.” Minho wanted to lash out. It would be at Seonghwa, yes, but not  _ because  _ of him. He wanted to get angry. Angry at the world for taking his best friend from him and turning him into an empty, unavailable shell of himself. Angry at his own person for being irresponsible and letting Seonghwa be captured. “Who are you? Park Seonghwa. You? Lee Minho. Where do you live? I ran away. Come with me. What? My parents do foster care. I’m not letting you rot away by the riverbed staring at your reflection like a modern-day Narcissus. Come with me.” Minho choked out the first words they had ever exchanged. It was like a promise to them.  _ I’ll always be here for you. I have your back. No matter what happens, I am here. We’re each other’s soulmates. Brothers, bonded by something more valuable than blood. Here to live together through old age, make lifelong memories with each other. I love you. If I could, I would give my life for you.  _ They’d always joked about that last part, but now, the words weighed down on Minho like a crushing stone, forcing the oxygen from his lungs in pained wheezes. “Please, Seonghwa. Let me inside of your head.”

****

“I’m going to die.” The words were chilling. Haunting. As if Seonghwa were already a ghost. And with his sunken cheeks, soulless stare, pallid skin… He looked more like a sickly corpse than a boy in his early twenties with decades upon decades ahead of him. “I’m already dead.”

****

“Seonghwa, that’s-” Minho ran a hand through his sandy hair. “That’s impossible. Just because you may have gone through hell - and believe me, I am not at all invalidating what you’ve been put through, and am willing to stay up for days if it means talking with you and getting this off your chest - doesn’t change the fact that you can’t die. At least not yet. You’re a Y-”

****

Seonghwa’s eyes were dull as he lifted his wrist; the skin was torn away in places, exposed pink under-layers with a yellow film coating over the wounds. Minho’s mouth fell open in shock, pupils dilating from the pure horror and fear that came with seeing the charcoal-colored zero against Seonghwa’s skin. “I’m a goner.”  _ I’m a freak. A monster. An abnormality. A liar. A fraud. A bully. A bigot. A person who doesn’t belong on this earth. Who shouldn’t have the right to live.  _ “I’m already dead.” Seonghwa couldn’t bring himself to look Minho in the eyes. A fresh tsunami of self-hatred crashing over him, pinning him down and suffocating him with unbeatable force. Drowning him with inescapable power. Why had he been so selfish to come back here? It would have been easier for him to never come back. To steal a gun and blow his head off, quick and painless. But he didn’t deserve a quick death. An easy death. For all the suffering he caused people, he deserved at least double of what he’d dished out to others. He deserved to have his throat cut little by little, watching crimson tears fall from gashes in his vulnerable parts. He deserved to be hanged, feel his pulse in the base of his skull becoming more and more intense as his eyes bulged out, his lips turned blue, his face purple. He deserved to be beaten. Whipped and thrown around until he was nothing more than a gruesome pile of muscle tissue, brain matter, and bone. Why did he come back to Minho? Minho didn’t deserve this. Minho was sweet and genuine and respectful and sensitive and empathetic and loyal. So much more than Seonghwa could ever hope to be. And Minho deserved the chance to move on from Seonghwa. To heal, to forget about the boy he called brother. But Seonghwa ruined it - like he did everything - by coming back. By showing his face. By making his presence known. “I’m so sorry…” The words felt foreign on his tongue. Remnants of the great and mighty Park Seonghwa flashed in his eyes, the boy who never apologized. “I should go, I-”

****

“Like  _ hell  _ are you ‘going’.” Minho snarled the words out. It made Seonghwa jump back in fear, still believing everything around him to be a threat. “I just got you back. I’m talking to you, going to the police with you to capture Void and bring that bastard son of a bitch to justice… I’m cleaning you up, I’m feeding you, I’m helping you.” Minho was reminded of the times of his teenage years when he would work himself up over an exam or a relationship and neglect his physical needs. Seonghwa would always be providing the physiological means for survival to him. Minho would be damned if he didn’t do the same. “I’m your family.”

****

“Don’t you get it? Don’t you understand?” Seonghwa’s voice was breathy, his gaze faraway. “I don’t deserve to be helped. I’m a filthy excuse for a human being. The only thing I need is… To be punished for all the hell I’ve put people through. Just bring me back to Void yourself. He can beat me again, rape me again, kill me… Whatever he wants, whatever would hurt most… It’s all fine by me.”

****

Minho’s blood was boiling. “Did you just fucking say  _ rape  _ and  _ again?!  _ I swear to all hell, I will single-handedly murder that cunt and all his excuse-for-human minions. I…” Minho’s face had reddened from rage, his fists clenched at his sides. “He- He… He fucking  _ hurt  _ you, Seonghwa, he… No. No, no, that didn’t happen. Please, Hwa, tell me that didn’t happen… He didn’t hurt you like that. He didn’t. He didn’t take all of this from you. Virginity, mark, happiness… Please tell me that fucking douchebag didn’t steal all that away from you.”

****

“He did, Minho.” Seonghwa was still only keeping eye contact with the peeling floorboards. “But I was the only one he did it to…”

****

_ Why did you let that happen…  _ The thought rang out, angry, inside Minho’s head. Why had Seonghwa been so stupid - so  _ selfless  _ \- to let himself be stolen away.

****

“Don’t look at me like that. Please.” Seonghwa’s voice broke on the last word, and it felt as if shards of broken glass were being dragged down the tender walls of Minho’s heart. “I’ve already had seven other boys look at me like I was some tragic, psychopathic nutjob who’d lose the last of his sanity in just a second. I don’t need to be seen like that in your eyes, too.”

****

“Seonghwa, I…” Minho bit the inside of his cheek. His sentence had nowhere to go, no depth or meaning behind the low syllables.

****

“You what, Minho? You  _ what?”  _ There was a new emotion creeping up in Seonghwa’s voice now, the tinges of anger coming out from his whispers. Minho’s heart clenched. He knew what that tone was. Seonghwa used it as self-defense. He used it against people he didn’t trust. Minho was not going to let himself fall into that category with his best friend.

****

“I. Am. Your.  _ Brother.  _ Okay?” The tears were there again, but quite honestly, Minho couldn’t bring himself to care much about the iridescent waterfalls that cascaded down his cheeks. “I’m here for you, and I always will be. I fucking feel bad enough for being the reason you got taken, and I… I want to set things right. I love you, so much, and whatever I  _ can  _ do to help you heal… That’s just what I’ll do.”

****

“Minho…” Seonghwa’s tone lost all edge. He seemed to shrink even more back into his sallow skin. “You weren’t the reason they took me. I- There was-” Seonghwa closed his eyes for a moment, and he was back inside the building. Void’s hands all over him, shifting to Mingi’s and Jongho’s. His cruel, deep voice turning into that of Yeosang’s, a filthy ‘pretty boy’ stopping Seonghwa’s air. He was back there, choking on the memories, asphyxiating due to the pain of reliving the horrific events. He was broken. He was doomed. Conscripted to an uncertain fate.

****

“Come back to me, Seongie…” Minho stretched his arm out but retracted it before he could make any contact with the black haired boy. “You’re home. You’re here, and you’re with me, and you’re alright.” That was how Jisung taught him to talk to people in situations like this, right? Reassure the person you were a source of stability. “I am here for you. I want to help you.”

****

“Minho-” A breathless gasp. “I don’t wanna die-” A pained realization. “I’m already dead.” A ghostly acceptance.

****

“Come here.” Minho’s response came within a blink, within a heartbeat. “Seongie… Hwa, come here.”

****

Seonghwa, with his broken eyes and sullen face and haunted body, stared the few inches between the two of them. This was Minho. This was not Void. This was not Mingi, not Jongho. Not Yunho. Not Hongjoong or San or Wooyoung. And certainly not Yeosang.  _ Minho.  _ Seonghwa’s chosen family. Blood brother. He loved Minho. He trusted Minho. Minho was okay. Minho was good. “No wrists.” He mumbled. “No back.” Minho got the message and nodded in silence. Seonghwa could see how his eyes shone with tears, but soon enough glittered, the hardened resolve of  _ I’ll get him back  _ palpable in the air. He staggered forward, face to face with Minho, and he fell forwards, pitching straight into the shorter boy, who supported him with ease. Minho’s hands encased his torso instantly, although gingerly. As if Seonghwa were a fine piece of porcelain that already contained cracks. Marred. Tainted. But he was there. He was firm and assertive, even with his gentle nature. Minho had him.

****

“I’ve got you.” A simple phrase that held wonders. “You can let go, Hwa… There’s nobody else here. Nobody you need to hide from or be fake for. It’s just you and me. And we can take on the fucking world. So please, Seonghwa, talk to me. Just for a little, and then we need to get you cleaned up. Fed. Rested.”

****

“I let myself get taken. Not willingly, I mean- I just… After I got that creep girl away from you, I made the idiotic decision to take up her offer on the drink. It was drugged. Majorly. I honestly don’t remember much of that night. All my senses were either numbed or heightened. I just kept telling myself that- that… I kept telling myself that it could have been you in my position. So I was happy, in a way. Even proud of myself, in some sick and twisted definition of the word. It hadn’t been you. I’d be the one taken and tortured and slaughtered… And you’d learn to move on. Carry on with life as planned. Support Dahyun and marry Jisung. I’d have stopped being such a burden on your life. Those were my thoughts. The only thing I could think, really, as the chloroform from the rag they put over my nose and mouth seeped into my lungs. When I woke up for the first time, god, it was even blurrier and less coherent than when I was first abducted. I was getting pumped up with some strange black liquid-”  _ The same color as that dastardly thing on my wrist.  _ “-in some sort of IV drip. I was restrained, although I can’t for the life of me remember by what. I was yelling. A lot. Screaming at people, probably threatening them. Like the show I put on in front of other people, but more influenced by tooth, claw, and the desire to stay alive as opposed to fitting in to the crowd. I think I bit down on someone’s hand and broken skin. There was something hot filling my mouth, I knew that. And then someone that wasn’t me screamed. There were orders made to ‘up my dosage’ and then I blacked out once more. And after that… Apparently it was three days later. I woke up sitting blindfolded and bound in some sort of room. I could feel coagulated blood and dried sweat stiffening the blindfold up, and needless to say, it was vile. I was alright for a little while. But then I got angry. Started threatening people again-”  _ If my terrible memory is at least the tiniest bit reliable, that is…  _ “-and that must have been my downfall. It was almost as if the man that took me had been waiting outside for that perfect moment to strike. And strike he did… I haven’t seen a mirror recently, but my face most likely has many, many bruises. Everything feels swollen and painful, so I might as well make an educated guess. He beat me pretty good… And I guess after I was successfully bloodied up, he decided dragging me to-”  _ To the place where I was deposited for Void’s personal pleasure to be viewed and used as a fucking slave.  _ “I don’t… I can’t. He just… Fuck, no, I can’t, I’m sor-”

****

“Seonghwa, don’t you fucking  _ dare  _ apologize. I can not begin to imagine what you went through, and you know it would never be my intention to hurt you or make you upset. I just wanted to know, but if you’re not yet at the stage where you can talk about it, that’s alright. We’ve got a-”  _ Lifetime.  _ The word almost slipped Minho’s lips easily. ‘Lifetime’ used to be such a throwaway word, and now… Now neither of them knew if Seonghwa would survive another second. “We…” Minho faltered again, dropping his gaze. “C’mon, you should get cleaned up.”  _ You look like death.  _ Another sentence that in any other circumstance would be an acceptable thing to say. Had their humor, their normal vernacular between each other really been that uncaring about mortality? And how insensitive might they have come off to other people as? “Please, Hwa, I know this all seems trippy and weird and insane but your physical health comes first.”

****

There was a faint, weak smile that flickered against Seonghwa’s bruised skin for a moment, and it almost seemed as if the boy Minho knew was back. “So because I got kidnapped and turned into some genetic freak, I’m your second Jisung?” Seonghwa didn’t know if his gibe was much of a joke.

****

“No.” Minho’s voice was simple, monotonous. “You’re my only Seonghwa. Now  _ please  _ just come on, you’re going to leak blood somewhere, and I don’t think I can handle that.” A laugh that was more of a shaky shudder forced its way from Minho’s chest, partnered with an uncertain smile that betrayed no confidence.

****

“I don’t know where you want me to ‘clean up’, all I’d be doing is leaking blood in various parts of the dorm. So pick your poison on where you want me  _ leaking,  _ in your terms.”

****

“That’s my best friend.” Minho mumbled under his breath, eyes shining with unshed tears. He looked up, holding a fierce eye contact. “I didn’t lose you.” His voice was angry and hardened with conviction, reminding himself that yes, Seonghwa was really here. Alive. He pulled back and out of Seonghwa’s grasp to look at him easier. “I am not going to lose you again. Now… Get your leaky self in the fucking shower.” Minho stretched his hand out again, and Seonghwa took it. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was steady. It was there. And Minho wasn’t letting go. “I’ll go and get you clean clothes, maybe get out some stuff for food, you just get in there, okay? Wash all… All of  _ that  _ away.”

****

“Yeah…” Seonghwa’s response was noncommittal. It was still hard for him to believe he was here. Home. With his family. There was no Void to pin him down, no Yeosang to break him apart with just words, no Mingi and Jongho to restrain him. “Yeah.” The repetition of the word felt like it served no real purpose, and it left Seonghwa feeling empty. Or maybe that feeling was because of his stomach… Regardless, he nodded and repeated the word once more. “Okay. I’ll go.” But his feet remained unmoving. Minho noticed - how could he not? - and frowned.

****

“Hwa, are you o-”

****

“Please don’t leave me alone-” The plea was broken, and it pierced directly through Minho’s heart. “Please, Minho, I can’t be left alone again, I’m sorry…”

****

“How many times do I need to tell you that you don’t have to apologize?” Minho’s voice lacked the humor that it would have needed to turn his question into a joke. Instead, his sentence weighed heavy in the air, a pregnant silence following. “You’ve been through hell and back, and I… I…” Minho pulled Seonghwa into a crushing hug, being more than extremely cautious to avoid his wrists. “Accommodating any and all of your requests is the least I could do on my end. Now  _ please,  _ Seonghwa, it’s late.” The older nodded then, and let himself be led - led, not dragged; he was being treated like a goddamn human for once - to the cramped bathroom. “Alright, Hwa. I’m going to go and get us both some towels and clean pajamas, is that alright? Are you okay with me going and doing that?”

****

Seonghwa, if he weren’t in this situation, would have scowled at Minho and berated him, muttering something like  _ Don’t treat me like a fucking two year old.  _ But instead, he steeled his breath and inhaled shakily. “That’s alright. But come back.” In the time that Minho took to get the towels from their linen closet and clean clothes from their dresser - which could have been minutes or hours to Seonghwa; he couldn’t discern the two anymore - Seonghwa hadn’t moved. He hadn’t seen himself in a mirror in days, and… His lower lip was split, encrusted with dried blood, his eye socket was beaten black, his neck and what he could see through his tattered, ruined clothes were covered in bruises and scrapes. And his wrist… He’d torn it raw pink, the hellish mark persisting through the ripped skin. God, this wasn’t him. This wasn’t him, this was just some sort of nightmarish hellscape. And he would wake up. He  _ had  _ to. Because he wasn’t just some broken kid with a bruised, cut open body, and a mark that condemned him to a fate worse than death. He  _ couldn’t  _ be. He was Park Seonghwa, emotionless attractive guy that had a good life. He  _ had  _ to be. He had to fit in that mold he created for himself. If he didn’t follow his eternal script perfectly, who was he? Not himself, that was for sure. The mirror didn’t show him the charismatic, put-together mask he fastened to his face for the public. It showed what Seonghwa was under the mask. Broken. Beaten. Destroyed. Ugly. Humiliated. Seonghwa felt dizzy for a moment, and his knees wobbled underneath him, coming dangerously close to betraying his weight. It took a little while for him to regain his bearings and steady himself by grabbing the marble countertop. He just felt so… So out of place. He was filthy and grimy. He belonged nowhere near a good college. Nowhere near anything of luxury. The only place Seonghwa felt he deserved to be near was a coffin, and even the little voice in his head told him that the wooden box might just be a bit too grandiose for someone as horrendous as him.

****

“Seonghwa?” The black haired boy jumped at the whisper of his name, and Minho winced in apology. “Sorry, I- You were spacing out.”

****

“I’ve been doing that a lot lately…” Seonghwa murmured in response, gazing at Minho indirectly through the glass of the bathroom mirror. “I don’t know if it’s helping me cope with shit or if it’s making me more neurotic.” Minho didn’t answer. He stepped forward after closing the bathroom door, wrapping his arms around Seonghwa’s waist in a tight, secure back hug, and deposited the two towels and clothes on the closed lid of the toilet.

****

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to you, Seong…” Minho begrudgingly -  _ desolately  _ \- admitted through a frown.

****

“Treat me like I’m normal tonight,” Seonghwa answered without missing a beat, falling into that in-tandem rhythm he’d mastered with Minho. “Until I have another breakdown, I guess. We can talk about it tomorrow. Go to the police and all that. But right now… I just want to feel normal again. Clean. I want to eat and drink, dammit. And… God, part of my mind is telling me that I’ll drop dead because of eighteen different reasons per second, so I just want to feel like I’m a Yellow again. Convince me I won’t die tonight.” Seonghwa paused after his last sentence after witnessing how Minho blanched. “I, uh, I was being kinda facetious there on that last one… Just, um… Just distract me.”

****

“Distract you? I’m Lee fuckin’ Minho,” The brunette mumbled under his breath. “I do that for a living.” He forced a smile out, and although it looked more along the lines of a pained grimace through gritted teeth, it was something. He removed his arms from around Seonghwa’s and bent down to turn the shower water on, letting it warm up for a few moments. As the water heated, he turned back to face Seonghwa. “C’mon, Hwa, let’s get you out of this,” He prompted, motioning to the all black ensemble he was still wearing since the night of the infamous party. “It’s- It’s just me. You don’t have to be… Scared, you know? I won’t… I would never-”

****

“Minho.” Seonghwa’s voice had dropped to a pained rasp. “You’re the person I trust most in this godforsaken mess we call a world. I know you would never do anything like that. To me or to anyone. You… You’re the best kind of person anyone could have in their lives. I love you for a-” Seonghwa faltered. His throat felt as if it were closing of its own volition. He coughed once, weakly. “For a lifetime.” He finished with forced conviction. The water had successfully warmed up by now, as stated by Minho, and the comforting presence of his brother’s voice was helping to relax Seonghwa at least a little. Minho sighed as he rolled out his neck, stripping himself of his sweatshirt and jeans. Hooking his thumbs in the waist of his boxers, he filed through the list of things he’d say to Seonghwa right now in any other situation. But nothing seemed right. So he settled for simple.

****

“I’ll be in there, just pop on in when you’re ready. And I, uh… Let me take care of you tonight. Yeah you’re a few months older, but… Just use tonight to eat and relax and sleep. I’ll do the work, you just… Try to be happy. I want to see you smile.” Before Seonghwa could even muster the sense to fake a crooked one, Minho narrowed his eyes - neither could tell if it was playfully or otherwise - and scowled. “A real one.  _ Please,  _ Seonghwa. Please.”

****

“Maybe I’ll work my way up to one of those…” It was an offhand comment. Seonghwa dropped his gaze to his ruined clothing, shredded to mere ribbons. His arms flexed in slight pain as he lifted his hands to unbutton and peel off what was left of the decimated fabric. Seeing his chest come into view, bare and exposed, made him shiver. Even there, his skin looked pale and sallow. Not the golden hue it should have been tinted. His torso was just a vast expanse of mottled purple and red bruises, a garden of torture. It took him a few seconds to realize that Minho had gotten into the shower already, because when he looked up, his best friend was nowhere to be found. It caused a spike of anxiety to run hot through Seonghwa’s bloodstream, but he overcame that quickly. He was safe. It was alright. He couldn’t look down as he pulled his jeans stained with various substances - don’t ask, he wouldn’t be able to tell - down his legs, along with his boxers. He wasn’t going to look. It would only serve as a reminder that… That… Another shudder wracked Seonghwa’s body. No. He was safe. He padded the few steps to the shower, and pulled back the curtain, still feeling too out of place. Minho, hair and body already soaked, gave him a smile warm like the water. It prompted Seonghwa to push down his worry and step inside. The feeling of the water cascading down his body was… Unnatural, to say the very least. The close proximity to Minho did much to calm his nerves however, so Seonghwa let the tension drop from his shoulders and stepped farther into the stream of water. It stung against the cuts of his body, but the feeling of getting the chance to finally wash away the physical remnants of what had been done to him greatly outweighed the slight sting.

****

“Are you alright?” Minho’s question was asked in a voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the water.

****

“I’m thinking of a million different ways I could die.” Seonghwa responded, no light in his eyes.  _ And I think I want all of them to happen. _

****

If Minho had an answer, he didn’t verbalize it. Eyes falling to the floor of the shower, he reached for a bottle of hair-care product Seonghwa hadn’t seen before. Noticing Seonghwa’s small amount of confusion, Minho muttered “It’s a two-in-one type thing. Quicker. Sungie bought it for me after you- you know… I didn’t want to do anything except wallow in my own guilt, but Jisung was there for me to make sure I took care of myself, and I… I’m going to do the same for you.” Seonghwa nodded silently, and inclined his head as Minho squeezed some of the product into his hands. When Minho’s hands came up to Seonghwa’s matted, now wet hair to start lathering up the product, Seonghwa couldn’t help but let his eyes fall shut. This, in a way, reminded him of his mother. She’d take care of him like this when he was young, taking great care in washing him up. Throughout her whole battle against leukemia, she had been a fighter, never letting her disease get the best of her until her very last moments. She… She was everything to Seonghwa, on the same level of love Sujin was on. And she died. She left hi. So did Sujin. He was alone. He had nobody. Seonghwa didn’t register the tears falling down his cheeks until he let out a broken sob to accompany them. “S-Seonghwa?” Minho questioned, a bit taken aback. “What-”

****

“I think I want to die.” Seonghwa hadn’t verbally admitted the fact until right now. “I… I want to be with my mother. Be with Sujin. Stop  _ hurting.  _ It’s too much, and I’m too fucking weak to handle it. I was never built for this. Yeosang was right. I don’t know a life where I’m not glorified and praised by people. I don’t deserve any of what I have. Not Dahyun, not Jisung. Certainly not you. All I am is a burden. All I do is cause people pain and suffering, and… I owe it all to everyone to put a fucking end to it. I can do that now, I… I would.”

****

“Seonghwa. Seonghwa,  _ please,  _ don’t talk like that.” Minho’s voice had dropped in pitch; he was choking up. “You are nothing close to a burden. You’re my best friend for a reason. My brother for a reason. My soulmate for a reason. Life wanted you as my family. For. A. Reason. You’ve got a heart of gold, you’re caring even if you don’t want to admit it, and… God, Hwa, you’re so fucking selfless. You- You let yourself get  _ abducted  _ to save me. I know things seem like they’re unbearably hard. I know you miss your mother and your sister. But they want you to be happy. They want you to live your life. And, fuck, even if its longevity is now unpredictable, they wouldn’t care. They want you to be that beautiful boy they know. Smart and funny and generous. That’s you, and they want to see it. Remember what you said they always told you? That you shine brighter than the stars? That still holds true, Seonghwa. You just need to believe it.”

****

Seonghwa closed his eyes in response, hanging his head. Minho, like always, was right. Just another reason he didn’t deserve to be in the life of someone as inherently good as Minho. Sensing that something was off, either physically, mentally, or both, Minho made quick work in hurrying up the shower. The soap, tinged pink from blood, swirled down the drain in a macabre pattern. Looking the few inches across to Seonghwa, Minho saw what he did the first time he’d met the man. Broken, scared, and alone. His hair down and unstyled, his face devoid of any makeup. Purely and unapologetically Park Seonghwa. The black haired boy had gone from earth-shaking sobs to small sniffles by the time Minho had wrapped the fluffy, pillowy, soft white towel around his body. It was improvement. Somewhat. Thankfully. Seonghwa’s wrist was still stinging from the soap that had been rubbed over it, trying to clean the minor wound, and any time the cool air hit against it, he would wince. He hated how sensitive he was, how weak and powerless it made him feel.

****

“C’mon, Seongie, get dressed. I’ve left a sweatshirt on your bed if you need it, but right now I’ve just got a shirt and some sweatpants for you.” Minho sounded like a parent, almost. Seonghwa smiled softly. Minho and Jisung would make lovely parents, once they’d gotten that far in their lives. Too bad Seonghwa wouldn’t be around to see it…

****

“Alright.” Seonghwa mumbled the acknowledgement under his breath as he took the clothes from Minho’s outstretched hand.

****

“I’ll be right outside making you some food, okay? Just take your time.”

****

“You don’t need to treat me like I’m a toddler.”

****

“You could have died, Seonghwa, and I get that. But I said I wanted to help. Make you feel better, at least a little.”

****

“How is treating me like I’m helpless going to make me feel better?”

****

“Seonghwa, I-”

****

“Save it. Just… You don’t have to. You’ve done enough for me, I should be the one t-”

****

“You got yourself kidnapped so it wouldn’t be me. You sacrificed so much to save my skin. Making sure you’ve eaten is the least I could do…”

****

“Whatever.” The reply was petulant. They both knew it. “I’ll get dressed, I guess. And if you’re going to get me anything, it just can’t be a lot. Physically, I can’t stomach that.” Minho nodded in understanding and left the bathroom quietly, taking his clothes with him. Now alone, Seonghwa exhaled. Heavily. Unsteadily. He took the time to go to the bathroom, finally getting to relieve himself after what felt like ages. After washing his hands, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. What if he turned the shower back on and purposefully slipped and fell, cracking his skull open? There were tons of razors in here, he could just as easily slice open his jugular or his aorta. And what about the various over the counter painkillers? An overdose would be easy. Seonghwa’s hand was reaching for the medicine cabinet. His fingers brushed the edge of the glass. And he couldn’t make another move.  _ Fucking coward, can’t even kill yourself.  _ It took him no time to finish getting dressed after that abysmal moment, the soft cotton material against his body lulling him into a sense of safety. He ran his fingers through his hair, already starting to dry in a wavy mass. When he walked out, Minho was sitting at the small kitchenette table with a bowl of cereal and glass of milk in front of him.

****

“For you.” Minho mumbled, as if it weren’t obvious enough. An answer died on Seonghwa’s lips. He ate in silence, Minho sitting idly by the whole time.

****

“I’m exhausted.” Seonghwa announced after he’d finished eating it what must have been record time, at least for him. He was reminded of the night before, when the ache of wanting to sleep pulled him close and didn't let go. He had asked Yeosang to stay by his side then. Stupid. Why would Yeosang ever want to taint himself like that? But Minho wasn’t Yeosang. Minho cared about Seonghwa, for some reason the taller would never understand. “Will you sleep with me?”

****

“A Seonghwa-Minho cuddlefest sleepover?” Mirth shone on Minho’s face, a juvenile glint in his eyes. “Always. Come on, Hwa, let’s get you into bed. Your own, because nothing feels as good as your own bed.” Seonghwa smiled at that, and it made Minho beam wide. “That’s the real smile… I’m glad I could help provide it.”

****

“Hm…” The response was noncommittal, more of a noise than anything else. “Jus’ cuddle me until I pass out.”

****

“I can do that, Hwa-Hwa.” Minho stifled a giggle as he brought out the nickname for Seonghwa he hadn’t used in years. Seonghwa gave a sated smile. With his skin clean, his stomach full, he could trick himself into feeling normal. He could talk to the police tomorrow. But for right now, he could sleep. Forget about the violation and the beating and the death. Forget about Yunho and his gentle nature, Wooyoung and his unending optimism, Hongjoong and his unwavering loyalty, Mingi and his superior plotting, San and his meticulous observations, Jongho and his wrath… He could forget about Yeosang and his harsh words, almost as torturous as being pinned down and raped by Void was. It was a slow stagger to his bed, sleep already weighing him down and rendering his muscles useless. His eyes were hooded, halfway closed as he pulled back the sheets of his bed and slid himself into the covers, pulling them up over his and Minho’s bodies as soon as the younger pressed up behind him. He’d slept like this with Minho often, although there were many times where it would be the other way around. Seonghwa’s arms floundered for a bit, wandering around until they found Minho’s. He took them gently, and wrapped them around his midsection. Not tight, but  _ there  _ enough to feel it. Minho was a security blanket to him, a thing of light and love and protection. Minho was warm, warm against his skin. His body heat permeated through the stitching of their clothing and soothed Seonghwa’s aches and pains. Feeling Minho’s steady heartbeat pulse against his back was beautifully rhythmic. Sensing that, sensing how Minho’s breaths evened out… Seonghwa was able to fight away his insomnia and fall into a sleep that lacked night terrors.

****

_ They were in a garden. Roses, hydrangeas, tulips, daffodils… Any type of flora one could think of, it was there. It was paradisiacal, even. Seonghwa beamed as he looked around at the rainbow array of plant life, spread out perfectly against the backdrop of a clear, crystal blue sky. This was paradise. Birds chirped and tinkling laughter like bells filled the air. A hand reached out towards Seonghwa’s, and reflexively, he took it. The hand was soft and warm, although unfamiliar. He followed the pale fingers to the wrist, up the arm, and then his eyes rested on- on Yeosang. Yet, strangely, Seonghwa didn’t find himself disgusted or taken aback by either of them being in that situation. His grinned widened, if that were possible, and he squeezed the younger’s hand. It felt right, here in this odd utopia. He glanced down for a moment, past their intertwined fingers, and he saw himself in a rich suit, jet black and expensive. Looking around the garden paradise, his eyes fell on an arch of roses, blue and red, weaving around each other in holy matrimony. Ah… So this is what this spectacle was. Something shifted in his heart, and when he blinked, standing at the altar were Minho and Jisung. _

****

__ _ Minho was dressed dapper in a pure white suit, black tie adorning the tuxedo. He looked stunning, light brown hair slicked back and styled. His eyes were lined dark, but white shadow juxtaposed the intense eyeliner, making him look nothing short of angelic. Jisung stood opposite him, fitted into a matching suit, although the colors were inverted. He dressed in all black, and a white tie hung from around his neck. His eyes told a similar story in their dress, and his hair, black and chin-length, seemed to sparkle in the glowing sunlight. They both stared at each other, seemingly lost in each other’s eyes. It was a beautiful sight, Seonghwa thought, seeing his family so happy. Dahyun stood to the side in a black dress, which appeared to be the counterpart to Seonghwa’s attire. Something in his heart told him ‘best man and maid of honor must be a truly charismatic duo, right?’. _

****

__ _ Minho and Jisung turned to him then, and Yeosang - who, for reasons Seonghwa’s mind had yet to tell him, was at Minho and Jisung’s wedding - gave his hand another supportive squeeze. “Hey, hyungie,” Jisung said with a beautiful, mesmerizing smile. “Aren’t you gonna give your speech? I know Yeosang-ssi is much, much better at words than you are-” Yeosang snickered beside him, and Minho stifled his own laughter with the back of his hand. “-but a speech is kind of a best man’s duty.” _

****

__ _ “Yeah, Hwa, c’mon, get over here. Dahyunnie already made her speech and only cried three times.” Minho added. His whole body radiated with unadulterated joy. “I think you’ll cry more though. Prove me wrong?” Was that a challenge? Seonghwa, smirked, and made to start moving. God, the things he could say. Stories of how the couple first met, maybe reveal a few of the duo’s not-too-raunchy escapades… Mention how they were the people who made him believe in love - an unknowing force caused him to look back at Yeosang when that thought broadcasted itself across his mind. Hm. Odd. Even stranger, though, was how his feet never left the ground. Minho cocked his head to the side, a bit confused. “Uh, Seonghwa? You alright there?” The playful smile never left his lips. “Seonghwa… Hello? Seonghwa?” _

****

__ “Seonghwa!” Minho was frantic, whisper-shouting and shaking the taller by the shoulders. “Park fucking Seonghwa, wake up right now, please, come on, you gotta leave-”

****

“Wha…?” Seonghwa jolted awake, jarred out of some dream that was already fading from his psyche. “Whaddaya mean? ‘M confused-”

****

“Whoever took you, whoever took all the kids, they, they stormed the school and they’re here and they’re fucking obviously looking for you. Come on, get out of bed, you need to leave. We’re a first floor dorm, just go out the window. I already opened it and pulled back the curtain and I made you a bag to take with you and don’t worry about the weight because it’s just a drawstring bag with one change of clothes and a shit ton of protein bars and my phone and its charger is in there because I was planning on buying myself a new one anyway and I also gave you a travel sized toothbrush and toothpaste and there’s also a brush-comb hybrid thing in there and that’s about it so get up please because you need to fucking get out of here.”

****

“V-Void’s men?” Seonghwa blanched, his stomach flipping inside his body like a warning. “He’s- No, they’re not. You’re lying. I’m dreaming.”

****

“You’re not dreaming, Seonghwa. This is reality, and it’s hell. Now get the fuck up or so help me God, I’ll- I’ll grab your fucking wrist if I have to. Don’t test me. I promise I’ll do it, and you know I never go back on my word.”

****

That threat was enough to get Seonghwa up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “W-Where the fuck am I even supposed to go?”   


“Lower your goddamn voice, Seonghwa. You don’t know where they might b-” A large, obnoxiously loud bang resounded through the small dorm. It came again, and their door creaked threateningly. “Shit, fuck, oh god, Seonghwa you need to go and you need to go now. Find your fucking father’s house if it comes to that, stay there for a little. You’re an adult now, he won’t hurt you. And he knows you can fight back. I can text you when it’s safe or something.”

****

“And if I just run away-” Seonghwa broke his heated anger with a small yelp when the banging grew louder, and a male voice yelled ‘Open up!’. “-what the hell are you going to do?”

****

“Distract them. Like I said yesterday, I’m Lee fucking Minho, I’m good at distracting people.”

****

“No, that isn’t happening, Minho. I can’t fucking let you do something like this, that’s suicide!”

****

“You got abducted in my stead. I don’t know how many times I need to keep reminding you of that. Get the fuck out already, I can’t risk losing you again.”

****

“What? Minho, fuck, if you don’t want to ‘lose me again’, what good will kicking me out to the streets do?”

****

“You can run. If they get you now, it’s over. You’re a dead man. ‘Never get to the second location’,” Minho quoted. “Remember that little line from grade school? You survived it once, but there’s no second chance luck for shit like this. Now  _ go  _ before I fucking push you out the window myself.”

****

“Minho, literally what the fuck? I’m not losing you either! I want my normal life back, at least for the few days or even minutes I’ll have it! I can’t let you do something like this…” Seonghwa’s voice broke on his last sentence, and he felt hot tears build up in his eyes. “Please, Minho… I can’t  _ survive  _ losing you again. I told you if I could give up my life to protect you, and now that I  _ can,  _ I’m not letting go of that chance.”

****

“I told you the same fucking thing, Seonghwa. You’ve already done that once, and-” Minho coughed once, twice, until his body was doubled over. “-and if I can repay that debt, I will. Now go. Please. I swear to you I’ll call you when it’s safe, but it’s not right now. You need to save yourself. I know that’s not in your blood. I know you’re selfless, and I’ll tell you that time and time again. But this is your time to survive and thrive and fucking  _ be alive.  _ So go and do that. I can hold these guys off.”

****

“Minho, n-”

****

“Seonghwa, I’m a grown man. And-” God, Minho was going to hate saying this. “And unlike you, I’m a Yellow. I know I’m safe. Now please.”

****

“No, Minho, you’re insane!” Seonghwa’s heart twinged with a deep pain at Minho’s scalding comment, but he pressed on.

****

“You’re my brother. My family. You love me. And I know that. So please, if there’s one thing you could do for me, it’s letting me do this. I promise you I will be fine. Now you need to promise me that you’ll do as I ask and save your own skin. Care about yourself for once in your life.” This was a losing battle. Seonghwa felt the outside breeze sweep in through the ajar window. Cool tendrils wrapped around his hips and beckoned him towards the outdoors. Minho thrust the drawstring into Seonghwa’s hands, his lips pressed into a thin white line. “This isn’t goodbye. I’ll see you again. I’m not losing you. I promise that I’m not losing you. You have my word. A brother’s bond.”

****

“I love you.” Seonghwa choked out through his tears, grip tightening on the rope strings of the bag until his knuckles turning a ghostly white. “So fucking much.”

****

“And I love you.” Minho replied with utmost certainty, his eyes shining with tears he wouldn’t let himself shed. “This isn’t goodbye, remember? This isn’t goodbye.”   
  
Seonghwa couldn’t bring himself to answer. If those were in fact the last words he ever heard from Minho, those were nice. If he died, it would still hold true. They’d meet in heaven eventually. Although Seonghwa would see Jisung first. Then Dahyun. And finally Minho. He turned his back to his family and strung the bag on his back, clenching his jaw until it ached. He wouldn’t look back. He couldn’t. Slipping on his running sneakers and pushing himself out the window wasn’t too much of a difficult feat. It was leaving that sent scores of searing agony through Seonghwa’s heart. But he could do this. For Minho. The morning breeze took him by storm. He didn’t know exactly what time it was, but the sky’s pink and orange hues fading away and being replaced by a pale blue clued him in that it was damn early enough. He started to run. Just like the night before. Hours ago. He didn’t know where he’d go, but he could do it. He had to.

****

Back inside the dorm, Minho wiped away the few tears he had shed. The incessant knocking was getting louder and louder until Minho found it unendurable. Squeezing his eyes shut and taking a series of deep breaths, he gritted his teeth and walked forward. His hand closed around the doorknob, and he opened it, coming face to face with a gruff looking man. “I’ve been told Park Seonghwa lives here?” The unspoken  _ Don’t lie to me, boy…  _ stood heavy in the air. “The police need him. Questioning.”

****

“Park Seonghwa, you say?” Minho innocently cocked his head to the side. “Yeah… That’s me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dunnnn~
> 
> anyone have any predictions?? one thing I can say about chapter seven - god. fuckin. damnit. this shit i n t e n s e.
> 
> if y'all wanna rage at me about my fics or even be my friend (i prefer the latter) come and yell at me over on twitter!! i'm @CosmicallyLyss uwuwuwu~
> 
> Have a beautiful day/night, ATINY!! Make sure to tell your loved ones you care  
> xoxo, Lyss <3


	7. All The Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " Minho stilled, his outside demeanor remaining calm. Inside, he could feel a smirk spread. This was too easy. “Arrest me? Perfect.” Minho cleared his throat before leaning back to rest his shoulders against his door frame. “You obviously know how it says somewhere in my citizen’s rights that I get a phone call once I’m arrested, right? Well, I’d like to take my government mandated phone call pre-detainment. Since I lost my phone - I’m such a forgetful kid, right? - I’ll be needing yours.” Minho grinned wickedly seeing how the older man furrowed his brow in anger he tried to mask. “Obviously, you’ll hand over your phone, right? A real officer needs to follow the law.” "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovely loyal readers i'm back from the dead!! so basically i've returned from camp and i've been prepping for my junior year of high school, but i've still managed to make the time for my fics because obviously I love these little guys~~
> 
> warnings for this chapter are probably the TV Standard by this point: angst and talking about suicide
> 
> also prepare yourself for the next chapters because shit's gonna hit the fan
> 
> happy reading, my lovies!

Minho knew, as soon as the words left his mouth, he’d majestically, monumentally fucked up. Playing hero made sense in his head - he’d lie, and then the ‘officer’ would bring him in for questioning, and then… Yeah,  _ no,  _ he didn’t even fully develop his hero plan. Minho was never usually this impulsive; Seonghwa must have rubbed off on him. Minho’s head spun at a rapid rate as he tried to figure out anything that would get him out of this situation safely, and Seonghwa out  _ alive. _ Fuck, it was still terrifying to think about how in the matter of days his best friend had gone from being destined to live after Minho himself to being conscripted to die in the next year. It would be all too easy to tell that Minho just wasn’t the young man Void’s men were looking for. Not only did he not look like Seonghwa - Minho’s mark was certainly not a black zero. The dark haired boy willed his heart to stop pounding - like he always said, he was Lee Minho, he’d be fine - and took in a deep breath. “Is there anything you need, sir?”

****

“I just told you the police need you for questioning, you blithering idiot.” The man spat. Well, Minho thought, so much for even a facade of politeness… “Boss mentioned you were a smart one, but I guess he was wrong. Now, we could do this the easy way or the hard way-”

****

“I’ll save you the trouble,” Minho interrupted, a lazy grin showing on his face. He stepped towards the doorway. When he peered out into the hall, he was met with more than a few confused faces that had poked their heads through their doorways, eyes still bleary from sleep. Minho could see how some of their mouths had started to drop open, ready to tell the man that it was not Seonghwa who stood there, oblivious to the fact that saying anything would blow Minho’s entire plan to shreds. “But first, we should make sure that our lovely guests go back inside, right? I’d assume a government official would want to keep matters like this private.” he turned his attention to the housemates he’d learned to call friends over the two years he’d been at Chung Ang. “Go inside, please?” Minho had never begged before - save for a few occasions with Jisung, but this wasn’t the appropriate circumstance to reminisce on those times - but the underlying desperation for the four people outside was almost tangible. He wished nothing more for the sleep deprived young adults to nod off back to sleep, back inside, letting Minho do what he needed to. The heavens must have been listening, because the exhausted and weary students’ eyes drooped as they mumbled something incoherent and retreated back inside.

****

The false officer had bristled at how easy it had been for Minho to get the students to listen to him. Was it really that easy to control tired young adults? “We must get going, Mister Park.”

****

“I’m still in the middle o-”

****

“If you keep resisting the demands of an officer, I’ll have no choice but to arrest you.” The man interrupted Minho without a second thought.

****

Minho stilled, his outside demeanor remaining calm. Inside, he could feel a smirk spread. This was too easy. “Arrest me? Perfect.” Minho cleared his throat before leaning back to rest his shoulders against his door frame. “You obviously know how it says somewhere in my citizen’s rights that I get a phone call once I’m arrested, right? Well, I’d like to take my government mandated phone call pre-detainment. Since I lost my phone - I’m such a forgetful kid, right? - I’ll be needing yours.” Minho grinned wickedly seeing how the older man furrowed his brow in anger he tried to mask. “Obviously, you’ll hand over your phone, right? A real officer needs to follow the law.” Reluctantly, the man dug his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out what must have been his cell phone. It was an old looking flip phone, the screen cracked in multiple places. “I didn’t even know they still  _ made  _ these…” Minho mused, thinking out loud. As his hand closed around the device and he made his way to re-enter his room, a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

****

“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” The man’s voice was made of thinly veiled frustration.

****

“These phone calls are only monitored when the detained person is inside a police station. I can make this one with privacy. That’s the law, isn’t it, officer?” Minho’s eyes sparkled; he almost dared the man to challenge him.

****

“Very well,” The man spoke through gritted teeth. “You have five minutes. One second longer and I’m breaking in.”

****

When Minho closed his dorm door behind him, he was shaking. All he had to do was stay calm. Stay calm, call Dahyun whose mother was a legitimate police chief, get Dahyun, her mother, and Jisung all to Minho’s dorm so  _ they  _ could be the ones to put Void’s hooligan in custody. His thumbs flitted nervously over the keypad for a few moments before his nerves settled and he began to quickly punch in Dahyun’s phone number. Screw anyone who ever told Minho growing up that he didn’t need to memorize important phone numbers.

****

“Hello? Kim Dahyun speaking, who is this?” Minho almost burst into tears at the sound of one of his closest friend’s voices coming through the worn speaker.

****

“Hyunnie-” Minho found himself at a loss for words, and was silent for just a few seconds until everything came crashing over him like a tidal wave. “Seonghwa’s alive and he came back last night and one of Void’s men came knocking on our door a few minutes ago so I gave Seonghwa a mini survival pack and my phone and told him to run so I don’t exactly know where he is right now, and I also lied to the man and said  _ I  _ was Seonghwa and his cover up is that he needs to take me to the police station to question me about something so if you could call your mom and tell her to come right outside my dorm in her cop car with you - bring Jisung, too, please - so we can pull a real life plot twist and bring this man to justice, that would be great.”

****

Minho had heard Dahyun gasp, and he could almost see the tears in her eyes when she whispered out a fragile “Seonghwa’s alive…”, a faint echo of the news Minho had told her.

****

“Dahyun, please just stay focused right now. You wanted to be detective extraordinaire and get the disappearances figured out, right? Well, now I’m gonna need you to live out that fantasy. Get over here as soon as possible with Jisung and your mother. I’ll fill you in on everything, but please, Hyun-ah, I need you to do this for me.”

****

“Okay, okay…” There was the Dahyun that Minho knew to be clear-headed. Her voice held a tinge of impatience. “I’ll call mom right now, we should all be over in ten minutes tops. Love you, Min-ah. We can do this. For… For Seonghwa.” Dahyun hung the phone up after that, and Minho’s heart started to race once again. Was that the right thing to do? He’d just gotten three more people involved in this sensitive, risky scene, and they were all people that meant a lot to him. Jisung in particular - the younger boy could have been sleeping, and now Minho was the reason that slumber could be interrupted. But taking away a few hours of his soulmate’s rest was admittedly worth it, if it meant saving Seonghwa - and the other seven kids. Besides, Jisung wanted Seonghwa to return safely just as much as Dahyun and Minho. After the party, after they’d realized Seonghwa had been the last abductee, the grief all hit them differently. Minho had receded into himself, repressing everything and lashing out at most people that tried to offer him consolation. Dahyun locked herself in her room, losing herself in waves upon waves of unrelenting tears. Jisung had worked himself into a panic that had led to him getting sick - he’d caught a fever for the next day, and it luckily broke before day two of them having lost Seonghwa. The pain of what they thought had been losing their best friend forever was unmatched, and they’d sacrifice anything to bring him back. Minho took a steadying breath, squared his shoulders, and opened the door. It was safe to say he sauntered out into the hallway as opposed to walked, and if not for the officer impersonator’s quick reflexes, the flip phone would have hit the floor when Minho dropped it. He needed to maintain the calm, snarky personality for just a bit longer.

****

“Ready now, pretty boy?” The way the man snarled out the nickname sent a chill down Minho’s back. He’d need to ask Seonghwa why the man had growled out those last two words so harshly. There was something innate in Minho, however, that warned him that as curious as he may be, he wouldn’t want to know.

****

“I know I might seem aggravating, sir,” Minho began, keeping his voice level. “But I actually made a call to the police station myself. I may be forgetful, but I’m actually quite responsible with certain things. I figured I’d save you the trouble of taking me down, since I’ve already hassled you so much, you know? There’s a police car coming to pick me up now. I do love to arrive in style…”

****

“You did  _ what,  _ you insufferable little brat?!” The man’s voice raised almost exponentially, and Minho made a mental note of the vein starting to bulge in his forehead. Before Minho could fully register the man moving towards him, there was a hand knotting itself in the front of Minho’s pajama shirt and shoving him until his back hit the wall. “You meddling bitch, I could have you k-”

****

“Are you threatening me, officer?” Minho’s voice was deadly calm. Had it been ten minutes yet? Were Dahyun, her mother, and Jisung even close to showing up? More importantly, how much longer could Minho keep stalling… “Or, should I say…” Minho trailed off. “Actually, let’s just drop the act. I know who you really are, and I know why you want me. But I’m not going back to that hellhole. You’ve done enough to me, and I’d sooner die than return there.” God, how would Seonghwa talk when he was angry? Minho scowled and hardened his eyes, trying to channel as much pent up anger he could into his glare. “You took  _ everything  _ from me. I thought I’d lost it all before Void abducted me, but you proved I couldn’t be any further from the truth. You stole me away from my best friends, you put me through a living hell, you stole my entire life out from under my unconscious body. You’re sick. You-”

****

The back of the man’s hand collided with Minho’s cheek and cut him off from the tirade. Minho couldn’t exactly be mad about it. Instead, he was met with a fresh wave of concern for Seonghwa. He knew the taller boy like the back of his hand, knew that once Seonghwa started running his mouth, he wouldn’t stop until  _ he  _ was finished. How badly must he have been beaten if just talking for half a minute earned Minho a backhand to the face? “That’s it, bitch. Keep it silent from here on or I swear to the nine circles of hell I’ll knock you out and take you that way.” The man’s voice was a predatory growl. Minho fought back the urge to widen his eyes and cower away. Seonghwa had gotten himself kidnapped, experimented on, beaten, raped, and sentenced to a rapidly approaching unknown death, all to save Minho from the same fate. As a last act of rebellion, he spat at the man’s feet, tainting the black dress shoes with saliva. The man growled again, grabbing Minho by the hair. He started to roughly drag Minho towards the exit of the dorm building with no regard for the tight grip he had on the young adult. Minho, although freaking out on the inside, forced himself to stay pliant. At this point, the most he could do was hope that the three people he needed most were waiting right outside. As the man burst the door open, Minho became convinced there was a God that was listening to his prayers, giving him mercy from the woes of the world. Dahyun’s mother stood with a deadly serious expression, gun raised and handcuffs swinging from the holster around her hip. Minho couldn’t see Dahyun or Jisung, though, and it sent a hot flash of worry down his spine.

****

“Let go of the young man,” Dahyun’s mother ordered. “Remove your grip entirely, and put your hands above your head. I’ll read you your rights after you comply to my demands. Just know that impersonating a police officer is considered a felony. One with a custodial sentence. Keep that in mind as you let go of the boy.” The man’s lips twisted into an ugly sneer as he pushed Minho towards the ground when he let go, causing the younger male to fall to his knees against the small strip of sidewalk. As soon as he made an impact on the ground, Minho scrambled to his feet, heart pounding inside his chest, hammering against his ribs. “Turn towards the wall and have your back towards me without moving your hands from above your head. Once you are against the wall, place your hands behind your back. These are not requests, they are orders administered from South Korea’s police force.”

****

Minho couldn’t bring himself to watch as the man reluctantly complied with the orders, his anger permeating the air. The telltale clicks of handcuffs caused Minho to visibly cringe, his hands shaking. The slam of a car door was jarring enough for Minho to open his eyes, and when he did, he was met with Dahyun’s mother standing in front of him, concern laced throughout her gaze. “Are you alright, Minho? Did he hurt you?” Minho had to look around for a moment and collect his thoughts. Seeing the man cuffed and stuck in the back of the police car gave him a newfound confidence.

****

“I’m fine. I just- I-” Minho shuddered. “Thank you. I can not thank you enough, I just- Seonghwa, he- he’s… He’s alive but he had to run off, and I didn’t know what to do, and-”

****

“Shh, honey, it’s alright…” Her voice was soft as she pulled Minho close. Dahyun’s mother was like a third mother to him - Jisung’s was the second - and the feeling of having a maternal figure telling him that everything was going to be okay wore on the last strands of his resolve. When he pulled away after a few heartbeats, his face was tear-streaked. “I’ll never be able to repay you.”

****

“You don’t have to, and I wouldn’t want you to. Dahyun and Jisung are right around the corner; I didn’t want them to see this. Go to them, talk to them. I’ll be reporting everything to the police, and maybe we’ll get more leads on Void this way. Dahyun told me Seonghwa got out, so I’m assuming all the other children made it, too. I’ll alert the parents and the authorities. But… they need to stay low. Void’s minions must be looking for all of them like they came for Seonghwa. It’ll be okay. Now go to them two, they’re worried sick for you.”

****

Minho nodded, unable to find his voice. Walking to round the corner, he felt as if his legs were lead, and he was walking in quicksand. Everything was heavy and slow, near impossible. But seeing Jisung’s face as he turned the corner made the sun break through the dark clouds surrounding Minho. He all but ran into the shorter boy’s arms, his heart constricting and swelling at the comforting feeling. When he pulled his face from Jisung’s chest, the younger boy frowned as he saw the tears in Minho’s eyes and down his cheeks. Bringing his hands up to cradle Minho’s face, Jisung gently wiped the tears away and pulled him in for a slow kiss. It could barely be counted as a kiss, just a faint brush of lips, but it was enough to ground Minho. His breath started to even out, and he could stand on his own without his legs shaking. He shifted his body to face towards Dahyun, and he brought the girl into a quick, tight hug with a small ‘thank you’ whispered into her ear. “O-Okay.” Minho started to speak. “Can we go inside one of your rooms? I don’t trust being outside, and I just can’t be in my own dorm right now.”

****

“We’ll go back to mine, love,” Jisung punctuated his sentence with a kiss to Minho’s cheek. It was the same one the man had slapped him on, and Minho was thankful that the red marks had already mostly faded. If they had still been there by the time he’d seen Jisung and Dahyun, it would have raised too many questions and concerns Minho was just too weary to tend to. “And you can take all the time you need to collect yourself before telling us anything.”

****

The walk back to Jisung’s dorm was relatively uneventful for Minho, if he could have the luxury of calling it that. He was flanked on either side by two of his three best friends who both held his hands and rubbed what they hoped were soothing circles against his dry skin. Even so, even with all their attempts at help, every time Minho closed his eyes he could only see Seonghwa. See his brother breaking down in front of him, begging not to be forced to go and risk permanently losing Minho after just mere hours of getting him back. Regardless of the painfully recent memories, Minho pushed on and waited until he was inside the safety that was Jisung’s dorm to let go and let his tears fall. He was ushered to Jisung’s bed, although he couldn’t tell who led him there, and told to sit down, to let it all out, that it’s good to cry. His eyes were red rimmed when he looked up, long eyelashes clumped together with tears. “For… For starters, Seonghwa made it out. All the children escaped, as far as I know they’re all alive. But… But-” Minho froze for a moment, unable to continue. “They were tested on. Experimented on, stuffed with wires like they were lab rats of some sort. And Seonghwa, he…” Minho was choking on his words, unsure of how to let the news break. He decided being blunt was the best option. “The unthinkable happened. His mark, it’s… Seonghwa isn’t a Yellow anymore. When they got experimented on, it must have mutated something, b-be… because… Seonghwa’s mark was changed. Altered. It’s black now, like midnight during a thunderstorm, and it’s a zero. He’s-” Minho’s throat felt tight. “He’s doomed to die any day now. And we don’t know how.”

****

“No-” Jisung choked out at the same time Dahyun breathed a broken “That can’t be true…”, both young adults folding in on themselves in the pure disbelief that stemmed from hearing their closest friend - who was supposed to outlive them all - had been conscripted to a relatively soon death.

****

Minho nodded slowly, grim, his lips pressed into a thin white line. “I told him to run. I don’t know where he is. He has my phone, and I’m praying to any and all higher powers that he fills us in on how he’s doing. But all I can be certain of right now is that he’s… He’s-”

****

Gone. Seonghwa had run off right as Yeosang had gotten past his anger and decided to be the bigger person, ready to apologize for his words and actions. And now he was gone. It made Yeosang’s blood boil. Out of everyone that had to send themselves into a dizzying panic spiral, of course it would be Seonghwa. The least stable of them all, it seemed, at least mentally. Yeosang hated to admit it - knowing he was involved in the matter left a bitter taste in his mouth - but he was part of the problem. He knew calling Seonghwa ‘pretty boy’ was the absolute worst thing he could have done to handle the situation. He knew that forcing Mingi and Jongho to bind Seonghwa by his wrists and ankles to carry him out was overstepping so many newly formed boundaries. But… It was what had to be done, right? Yeosang’s goal was to get them all out alive, and that’s what he had done. Sure, things didn’t exactly go as planned. Mingi faked his own death and spurred Jongho on to brutally murder six grown men - and sport jet black eyes; they still needed to figure that one out -, and Yunho and Wooyoung both blacked out, but the end result was exactly what Yeosang wanted to happen. All eight of them exited the building breathing and in no imminent danger of an immediate death.

****

Yeosang had known since the beginning of time he was a stubborn bastard. He had known that he was a bit of a hypocrite the second he learned the word’s definition. But it wasn’t exactly his fault. He loathed stereotypes and generalizations, and actively tried to combat them, especially since he was the poster child for what a Blue  _ shouldn’t  _ be. That was a facet of his mindset that he would never changed. But Yeosang also believed that first impressions weren’t always accurate, and that people could change. That how he viewed a person could change. Most of the time, Yeosang was able to stick to that philosophy. When he’d first met San after he’d been kidnapped, he didn’t like the barely younger boy, and thought him hot-headed and disrespectful. But in a few short hours, he’d learned that the boy used his sharp tongue and quick wit as a defense mechanism when he felt scared or intimidated. And now he felt a kinship with the boy, ready to defend him at a moment’s notice.

****

With Seonghwa, it was different. From everything Yeosang had seen from him - save from everything post-abduction - he’d known that the boy was a bigot who loved to stereotype people, especially the Blue class Yeosang felt proud to be a part of. Seonghwa was all looks and popularity, high and haughty like a Roman god. He was stuck in his unjust thoughts, and it didn’t look like he’d ever change - Yeosang felt the need burning inside him to forget about how Seonghwa had apologized for everything he’d said as he told Yeosang how he’d lost his sister to suicide. So, if Seonghwa never changed his old school, conservative ways, Yeosang could -  _ would  _ \- forever believe that Seonghwa was a bigoted asshole that didn’t deserve to have the privilege of being a Yellow. In some sadistic way, Yeosang wanted to feel a sick satisfaction knowing that privilege had been stripped from him. Yeosang shivered from where he was perched atop a cardboard box, soggy from the humidity of the morning air. As much as he wanted to make himself believe Seonghwa deserved this, to make himself believe he hated the former Yellow, he knew it wasn’t truly in him. Especially after what the black haired boy had just been through. In fact, Yeosang pitied Seonghwa more than anything, which may have been worse. But Seonghwa was not only an outcast, but a freak of nature. And he was alone. Yeosang knew he should feel bad about that fact, but it didn’t phase him. It was Seonghwa’s choice to run off, his choice to risk his life by spending the night alone. Wooyoung had come back to consciousness soon after they escaped their torturous prison, and he had shown them the back alley in the poorer part of the city they currently resided in.

****

Void and his men hadn’t come looking for them - when Yunho came to, his pupils dilated so that black took up almost his whole iris, he’d been certain that Void wouldn’t send out a search until morning, that he wanted to lure the captives into a false sense of security - yet, but Yeosang couldn’t say the same for Seonghwa. Was the boy even still alive? And if he had died, who would be the first to notice? Would there be a lavish funeral, preceded by a grand procession with some football jocks as the pallbearers? How many of the Chung Ang students would mourn the king that once roamed their halls? Seonghwa must have had at least one actual friend - yes, Yeosang meant  _ friend,  _ not a fan or someone that just wanted to hook up with Seonghwa - in his life; how would they take it? Had Seonghwa himself truly lived? The only times Yeosang had really ever seen him for longer than a second in the halls was at campus parties. He’d be drunk off his ass, trashed out of his mind, a goofy smile on his face and a faraway look in his eyes. Was that how the boy had entailed to spend the rest of his life? Wasting his youth and destroying his body? Yeosang wished he were like Yunho for a moment - the psych major had a knack for dissecting people’s inner minds like it was nothing - and possessed the uncanny ability to understand Seonghwa. Was it the Yellow mindset that said ‘I have decades upon decades of years left alive, if I spend ten or maybe twenty partying, would that really be so bad?’ Yeosang scowled at the thought. He couldn’t imagine wasting a life on alcohol and faceless hookups for twenty years, especially since he himself had grown up knowing he’d never make it past his late twenties.

****

Yeosang spared a glance down to his inner wrist. It was covered in goosebumps, first off. Keeping to his stubbornness, Yeosang hadn’t accepted a sweatshirt from the boys, and chose to spend his rough night in just his jeans and graphic tee. He regretted it now, but would never admit it. It reminded him of when he was younger and his mother would tell him to wear a jacket outside in the rain. Yeosang would never listen, and instead come home soaked with sodden shoes and a runny nose, and wake up with a cold the following morning. But not once did he ever admit his mother had been right with her advice. Looking past the proof of how freezing he was, Yeosang’s eyes locked on the mark. A black zero. The curves of the placeholder number were neat and in perfect condition. It looked exactly like any other zero mark would, and Yeosang would know, he’d seen too many during high school when he lost one friend to cancer, one to a car crash, and another to suicide. The zero was perfect, unlike a faked mark that so much of the population tried to get away with flaunting. Yeosang could handle a zero. He knew he’d die soon enough and he had accepted it - although he never knew  _ how  _ he’d do it. It was almost calming to know he wouldn’t have to stare at that sapphire five any longer. If there was anything to concern Yeosang, it would be the color of the mark. It was obsidian, it was a crow’s feather, it was calligraphy ink. It was charcoal, it was ebony, it was onyx. It was intimidating and terrifying, because it was a mark that had never been seen before. Yeosang couldn’t help but chuckle as he traced his index finger along the looping curves of the number. Fear of the unknown, that’s what it always was. It plagued society from the dawn of time, and Yeosang couldn’t foresee it stopping any time soon. Maybe Yeosang could find a way to be optimistic about this, too. He wasn’t destined to take his own life anymore. No longer did he have to worry about wondering how he’d die. Would he slit his wrists? His throat? Would he shoot himself? He could always overdose on pills, how about that? Would he drown himself? Maybe choose a different element and self-immolate? Or starve himself until he dropped dead? Hang himself with a noose he’d never yet learned how to tie? There were so many options, all of which petrified Yeosang. Life, to him, was worth living. Sure, he had no idea what came after it, and yes, the earth had so many problems, both environmentally and socially, but Yeosang loved living. He’d always sworn that if it was up to him and not fate, he’d never take his own life.

****

Even though he’d been born into the class of people that took the ending of their lives into their own hands, Yeosang couldn’t fathom why someone would ever do it. Time healed all wounds - he knew that all too well. Another shiver passed through his system, one that Yeosang wished he could attribute to the slight chill in the air. But the chill was fading fast, and Yeosang could only see the grade school version of himself behind his eyelids. The scared little boy that sat cowering, crying against the brick wall of his school, eye and nose throbbing in pain from where the boy standing above him had thrown his camera - a birthday gift - against his face and shattered the lens on his skin. At least fixing the lens wasn’t too expensive… Yeosang could still feel where the glass grazed the apple of his cheek and bridge of his nose, so close to breaking skin. He could still hear the boy’s words.  _ I’m not the only one that wishes your mark was a zero, fuckin’ faggot. Everyone wants you to just kill yourself already. And maybe snap some pictures as you bleed out, hm? Pretend like you’re worth something one last time?  _ Yeosang’s spirit still hadn’t broken even after all his grade school bullies had put him through. It was a part of his tenacity and unending willpower. If Yeosang said he wanted to live, said he enjoyed living, then nobody would be able to change that. No bully that was just insecure themselves could ruin Yeosang’s optimism. Yeosang’s eyes closed, but the afterimage of the rising sun still burned in his retinas. A small smile spread over his face as he realized that although his impending death was much sooner than he had planned for, he wouldn’t need to leave the world because of his own intentional actions. His night of sleep had been rough, plagued by nightmares of Mingi’s screams, Yunho and Wooyoung blacking out and crashing to the ground, Jongho’s pitch black eyes and bulging black veins… They were all things that had happened, but the scariest nightmare by far was one that, luckily, hadn’t happened. It had been of Seonghwa being caught again, this time killed, brutally, even more so than what Jongho had done to the prison guards. He was physically exhausted, emotionally spent, and a soft humming from a few yards away was the perfect background noise to help lull Yeosang back into a fitful sleep as he nodded off, lying back on the cardboard and curling up into himself tightly, trying to conserve any warmth he could.

****

Hongjoong had always loved creating music, loved being the person to weld different beats and erratic sounds together and turn them into art. Before he was abducted, he’d easily be found drumming a rhythm with his paintbrushes or humming a melody that only existed inside his head and a flash drive. It wasn’t much different now, even as he was lost in his own slightly splintered mind, and hummed to a beat that he was solely creating. It was something soft and lilting, and Hongjoong could hear the faint piano chords in the back of his mind. The self-made music helped to ground Hongjoong in reality; it was something that could act as a tether to the real world and keep Hongjoong from getting too far into his own head. Hongjoong had never been introverted, he was bright and talkative, all smiles and reformed fashion. He’d always had ideas about music, about art, and about charity, and he always had the option of talking about his vast expanse of ideas. At least… He used to have that luxury. After being abducted, Hongjoong lost his best friends and his journals and his mixtapes and his music software. Everything he could once pour his emotions into was violently torn away from him. And with nowhere to project, nowhere to vent, Hongjoong had felt that the only viable solution was for him to empty all he needed to rid himself of back into his own, already overcrowded head.

****

It came close to breaking him. It wasn’t uncommon for the daydreamer to space out, focusing more on how he could add more harmonies to his latest track without making it seem too busy rather than on his history lectures, but since the kidnapping, he’d been prone to spend more time lost inside his own head than engaged in the real world. During times of crisis, thankfully, he was able to ground himself back in reality to be a vital asset to their team, even possessing what Yunho had called “natural leadership qualities”. Hongjoong’s lips stretched into a small smile as Yunho entered his thoughts. The taller boy, with his optimism and charm, had been there with Hongjoong since he’d shown up in the holding cell to act as a support beam for the older, pulling him back from the clouds when Hongjoong started to get too lost inside his thoughts. And he was here for Hongjoong now, holding his hands loosely and watching the shorter boy sway to the music in his own head.

****

Yunho had always known he was empathetic, more likely to care about the well-being of others as opposed to himself. It didn’t bother him; the feeling of knowing he was able to provide comfort to others meant more to him than anything else. Yunho assumed much of it had to come from his choice of major. He’d known from his early days of high school that he wanted to be a psychology major and have a career as a licensed psychologist, able to offer counseling to others. Making connections with others and utilizing those connections to inspire others - that was what Yunho thrived off of. He was able to bond with Wooyoung - the second boy taken, the first person besides a prison guard Yunho had seen in a month - and making him believe that he wouldn’t die down in the dingy cell. When Mingi couldn’t muster the ability to relay his thoughts as words, staying silent, Yunho was there in a heartbeat to act as an interpreter, a translator. Defusing the anger that manifested from Jongho and San - the irritation that came from the boys wasn’t an outburst at the rest of them, it was a defense mechanism for the two of them - was an easy task for Yunho. Trusting Yeosang and letting him figure out the layout of the underground cells made the new arrival feel like a true part of the team, and Yunho had sensed that a need to belong had been bubbling inside the shorter for years. Sitting with Seonghwa and just talking, treating him as if he were a normal person, no mark division involved, had released at least some of the tension in the older boy’s shoulders. As for Hongjoong, Yunho could often be found at the shorter boy’s side, their hands interlocked, making sure Hongjoong didn’t drift off too far in his mind. Yunho had done all he could to give hope to each of the seven boys, to try and make them feel the least bit humanized after losing everything that had been the foundation of the people they used to view themselves as.

****

It wore Yunho down by a substantial amount, but he wouldn’t admit it to himself. All he’d ever do when one of the boys had commented on how drained he looked was wave it off nonchalantly and attest it to the physical struggles that came with his near starvation. It was a sensitive topic for the group, especially after the scare that came with Yunho blacking out during their great escapade. When Yunho woke up, he thought he was dead.  _ Wished  _ he was dead, in fact, but  _ that  _ was a matter for a different time. When he’d been told the story - after they all ate scraps of food San managed to steal from various corner stores - he was angry. It was mostly at himself. If he’d been left there and didn’t cause so much fuss, they might have made it out before the guards confronted them. Mingi wouldn’t have had to pretend to die, and Jongho wouldn’t have been responsible for the death of six men. And Yunho  _ wanted  _ to be angry with Hongjoong. He’d specifically instructed the older boy to leave him behind when he inevitably collapsed, and told him to make sure he and the others just kept running. But Hongjoong hadn’t listened. He’d saved Yunho’s life, but he’d put himself in danger.

****

That was what Yunho had cared about. He would have been fine with dying. The moment he’d woken up in that cell with an aching stomach and a black zero on his wrist, he’d accepted his death. And running out there, knowing that his sacrifice could save the lives of seven others, he was happy. But Hongjoong wouldn’t let him go. “Joongie-hyung?” Yunho had realized he’d called for the boy only after the nickname slipped. It took a few moments for the shorter boy’s glazed eyes to come back into focus and rest on Yunho, but he soon cocked his head to the side, an indication that he was listening to the younger. “Can we talk?”

****

Hongjoong was noticeably startled, taken aback for a moment, and Yunho wished he could go back in time and change his phrasing. ‘Can we talk?’ was such an anxiety inducing phrase, and Yunho knew that firsthand. “Sure…” Hongjoong started slowly, a bit skeptical. “Are you alright? Feeling faint again, or…?”

****

“It’s not that…” Yunho reassured the older boy as he trailed off. “It’s just- I- I don’t know.” Yunho rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He knew he had no good reason to be nervous, all he was doing was talking to a boy he’d become impossibly close with in the past few weeks. “Before we got out of that prison, I… I told you that when I dropped, I wanted you to just leave me there. All I wanted was for you seven to make it out alive. I knew I was going to be a setback, hyung, I’m not an idiot. Have you seen me? I’m one hundred eighty-four centimeters of skin and bone. And I wanted you to go into that escape with that knowledge fresh in your mind. You were supposed to leave me behind. But stalling everyone like that, even if it was only for a minute, that could have cost you all your lives. That’s the last thing I wanted. Seriously. The only thing I cared about was making sure you were safe.”

****

“Are you saying you’re blaming me for saving your life?” Hongjoong inquired after a few seconds of thought. He didn’t seem irritated, didn’t seem offended; just curious.

****

Yunho sighed. If he couldn’t communicate his thoughts clearly, how was he supposed to be a psychologist? Yunho started to answer Hongjoong before the stray thought of  _ I won’t even be alive past college anymore…  _ was fully analyzed in his mind. “That’s not it. I just want to know why you didn’t listen to me. I wanted to save you all, but because you stopped to get me, you almost died. I know I’d probably die in that scenario too, but even in heaven, I wouldn’t be able to live knowing you’d died because of me.”

****

“I couldn’t just let you die, Yunho.” Hongjoong’s hands tightened around Yunho’s. “I know it’s what you wanted, I won’t disagree with that, but there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d leave you there. I said it to the others, we wouldn’t want to be remembered not only as the boys that got kidnapped, but the boys that let Jeong Yunho die. And it was more than that. You’re the group’s light. Our happiness. If we lost you, we’d lose hope completely.”

****

“You’re not understanding me,” Yunho started, exasperation starting to make its way into his tone. “You could have died because of what you did. I could have been the reason the seven of you get murdered.”

****

“Yunho-yah. I’ll keep saying this until  _ you  _ understand  _ me.  _ I would not and will not let you die. You mean too much to us.” Hongjoong pressed.

****

Yunho’s voice was flat when he muttered “I could have killed you all.”

****

“But you didn’t!” There was exasperation present in Hongjoong’s voice, the level of it rising along with the volume.

****

“Well what if it happens again?” Yunho’s volume raised to match Hongjoong’s, not wanting to be overpowered. “I’m the weakest person we have! It was safe to leave me behind then, but it’s not too late to leave now…” The wheels in Yunho’s mind started to turn. “I can leave now, I won’t hold you all back then…”

****

“I’d lose my own life before letting you die.” Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed. “I carried you out of there by myself because I wanted you alive. I wanted you with us! I’m not letting you be selfish enough to take that away. You’re vital to the group, whether you’re severely underweight or not.”

****

“Wanting to sacrifice myself for the greater good isn’t selfish, Hongjoong!” Yunho dropped the formalities. “Besides, people survived for three months without me. If I died, whatever! People already finished mourning me. My family would miss me, but they’ve probably all accepted I’m a goner. Pretty nihilistic people…” He bit his lip before switching the topic away from his family. “I’m never telling you my plans of sacrifice again.”

****

“It doesn’t matter who you tell! I’m always going to be there making sure you’re okay!” Hongjoong’s eyes were getting glassy again, and it made Yunho’s chest contract. He gave Hongjoong’s hands a small squeeze, letting the boy know that he still needed him here, that he couldn’t check out of reality yet. “I’m serious. And even if you don’t want to believe it, there would be people who missed you!”

****

“Yeah?” Yunho challenged, normally smiling mouth twisting itself into a frown. “Like who?”

****

“Me!” Hongjoong yanked his hands out of Yunho’s grip to run them through his own long and unruly hair. “I would miss you, idiot. I care about you. We all do! I thought that was obvious enough, especially to someone as perceptive as you.”

****

Yunho stalled, leaning more of his weight back on the damp brick wall. He was at a loss for words. “All I’m doing is hindering you from a chance at survival.” His voice had weakened, and the exertion of shouting had made him dizzy. The clamor had also made the five other boys stir in their already restless sleep, though none of them had woken up completely.

****

“You’re probably the only source of optimism this group has. We can’t lose that.” Hongjoong paused. “I can’t lose you.”

****

Yunho couldn’t articulate his protests, and reluctantly swallowed any complaints he had. Looking across at Hongjoong, seeing how the smaller boy had balled his tiny hands into fists, something in Yunho’s heart tightened. “I-” Yunho didn’t know what to say. Hongjoong’s mouth was hanging slightly open, his chapped lips cherry red. Chills went down Yunho’s back as he let himself be reminded that he had a few months left to live at best. So why should he hold back on his impulsive feelings? He’d been the one to advise all of them to live like each second was their last. So, Yunho decided to put it eloquently, fuck it. Rejection would sting, but not as much as knowing he was doomed to die in the coming months. “Can I kiss you?”

****

Hongjoong furrowed his brow, so much so that Yunho was about to sigh and turn away, accepting the rejection. “Why would you want to do that?” Once again, there was just confusion spread across Hongjoong’s features. There wasn’t an underlying tone of disgust or shock, it was just pure questioning from the older.

****

“For starters, I feel really alone right now, and physically being with someone has always given me a sense of belonging. Even if it isn’t intimacy, you know how fond of affection I am, giving and receiving.” Yunho admitted, shifting his weight between his two feet. “And also because it’s  _ you.  _ You know, like, I wouldn’t ask someone like Yeosang to do this. I love him to death, but when I think of the connection you and I have, I feel like there’s something different. I’m not trying to be some sort of sappy romantic - really, I’m not, I hate those - and I’m not gonna try and wax poetic to you. I don’t think I’m hopelessly in love, I just… I don’t know. It was a weird question, hyung.” Yunho swallowed nervously. “You can forget I said anything if that makes you feel more comfortable.”

****

“I can’t kiss you.” Hongjoong stated, and Yunho nodded in a dejected acceptance, turning his head to the side and breaking eye contact. “You’re too tall. You have to fix that first. Also, there are six people sleeping a few feet away from us. So we should probably go a little ways away?”

****

“Wait, so you want to? Like, actually?” Something in Yunho’s blood ran lava hot, and the younger could have sworn he heard Hongjoong’s voice saying ‘yes’ before he truly did articulate the syllable outwardly. “Okay…” Yunho paused. “If you feel like you’re starting to drift away again, please try and find a way to notify me. If you’re spacing and I’m still kissing you, that’s going to feel way too much like I’m taking advantage of you. I can’t do that to you.”

****

“Yunho.” Hongjoong put his hands back in Yunho’s and started to swing them back and forth. “You’re talking a lot. And you’ve gotta use your mouth if you wanna kiss me, so I don’t think that tiring it out right now would be that good of an idea. Especially since people have told me I’m pretty good. So? Let’s go, yeah?”

****

“Wait, what? Who’s told you that ‘you’re good’?” Yunho pressed, egging his hyung on to spill his past endeavors.

****

“Mingi, mostly. This boy Changbin. A girl named Haerim.” Hongjoong smirked, the mischievous grin all too carefree for the situation they were in. “Now will you be quiet? I don’t know if blacking out messed up your memory, but we’re running for our lives here.” Hongjoong pulled Yunho closer towards him, rushing out from the limited protection of the alleyway. The two were grateful for the fact that they were residing in a part of town that was a bit below the poverty line, so no cars or commuters were there to spot them. It was nice, in a way, feeling so carefree. It was almost as if they were weightless, free-falling without a care in the world. The only thing that forced them to come back to the confines of reality for a moment was Yunho almost collapsing, still not met with enough energy to sustain himself in even the situations that required the least amount of exertion. “You good?” Hongjoong whispered once Yunho had regained his balance. The older had started pressing towards the younger, moving forwards until he had Yunho with his back against the cool brick wall of an abandoned corner store.

****

“I apologize for how horribly cliche this’ll sound,” Yunho prefaced his following statement with such a tone that it seemed like he was issuing a warning. “I’m alright, but I’m pretty damn sure I’ll be doing a lot better if you kiss me.”

****

“I think that can be arranged…” Hongjoong’s voice was like honey, warm and smooth and sweet. Yunho felt dizzy, and he’d swear on his life that it wasn’t from the near-deadly malnutrition. Hongjoong’s sharp, almost cat-like eyes glanced upwards, as he made fierce eye contact with Yunho. Yunho gave the shorter boy a nervous half smile, and let his arms fall to wrap around his waist, holding him so impossibly close. It felt natural for their eyes to fall shut then, faces so close so that they could feel the soft tickles on their skin that came from the other’s breath. If they chose to disregard the circumstances that landed them in this situation, it could have been considered picture perfect. They inched closer and closer together in silence, in peace…

****

But all peace needed to come to an end in a world plagued with all sorts of devastating war.

****

“Yunho? Oh, God, Yunho, they- Fuck, and Hongjoong, they’re back-” The voice was frantic, pained and shaky, and it belonged to none other than Seonghwa. The couple broke apart before they had the chance to formally - physically - be together, in shock at hearing someone address them. More specifically, they were shocked that it was  _ Seonghwa  _ who spoke to them so directly. The boy that, as Yunho had been told, ran out on them after they’d all escaped. “Guys, please-” Seonghwa sounded desperate, and it was abnormal to hear him with this sort of a tone. When Yunho had spoken to Seonghwa privately, he’d heard the boy sound destroyed and defeated. When the prison escape had just been starting, Hongjoong had heard Seonghwa angry and defiant, almost animalistic in his rage. But this sort of desperation? It was almost unthinkable, especially to be coming from someone such as the ‘great Park Seonghwa’. “Minho, they have him, they took my brother, he-” Seonghwa had run closer, and Yunho’s heart stilled when he got a better look at the older boy. Although he was dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a graphic tee that made him appear normal, hsi feet clad in running shoes with a drawstring bag slung across his back, his face - pink and mottled with tears - betrayed that he was nowhere close to being put together. Yunho could feel something pull deep inside of him, a sort of twisting in the center of his heart. Seonghwa’s words were nothing more than incoherent babble, but Yunho would take it to his grave that he could understand the older just from looking at him.  _ The same people that kidnapped us came for me earlier, and my brother took my place, forced me to run. I might have lost him, all because I didn’t have the courage to stick my ground. _

****

“Seonghwa-ssi…” Yunho’s mouth felt dry, but he pushed past the discomfort. “You- You’re being too loud, come back to where the others are. Sit down, collect yourself, then we’ll talk. Also- how did you find us? We were supposed to be hidden well…”

****

“I… I don’t know?” Seonghwa’s voice deepened with distress. Running his hands through his knotty black hair only made him seem more bedraggled, which Hongjoong couldn’t help but wince at. “I just- He was- And they were-” Seonghwa’s hands were trembling, his fragmented sentences the perfect accompaniment to his splintering guise of safety.

****

“Seonghwa, you need to breathe.” Yunho’s voice was steady and calm; even Hongjoong could feel himself become grounded when the tallest of the three spoke. “Take a minute to collect yourself, then we can all walk back together and you can let us know what’s got you so bothered…”

****

If Seonghwa was in his right mind, he’d snap at Yunho, near the point of cursing out the younger boy for talking to him as if he were a mere child. But in his current state, he couldn’t help but admit to himself that he appreciated Yunho’s soothing tone and certainty. “Okay-” His breath was still choppy and uneven, and his head didn’t yet sit on straight, but he was forcing himself to come back to his senses. For Minho, he’d do it. “I’m okay. Wherever it is you’re staying, take me there.”

****

“It’s not far from here.” Yunho mumbled. Seonghwa watched as Yunho took Hongjoong - who seemed like he was staring so intensely at nothing, eyes almost glassy - by the hand and started to lead him back towards a shadowy alley. Was there something up with the older boy? Seonghwa had no idea… If there was anything he knew about Hongjoong, it was that he was the only boy the same age as him, that he had a creative streak (as told to him by his friends), and that he liked to keep his hair on the longer side. It brought Seonghwa close to discomfort when he realized how little he truly knew about the ragtag bunch of seven abductees that had started considering each other family. Seonghwa wondered if he’d ever fit into their strange family unit. He wondered if he would ever  _ want  _ to do such a thing. The only bond he shared with any of them was their communal destroyed future and the identical unseen marks. Besides, he already had a family. And part of that family could have his life at risk right now, could be in grave danger, all because of Seonghwa’s inability to stand his ground… “Okay…” Yunho’s voice was quiet as he slowly lead the way back, Hongjoong and Seonghwa following silently in tow. “Just be quiet, they were all asleep when hyung and I lef-”

****

“-o and get us all some breakfast from the convenience store.”

****

“You don’t have any money.”

****

“None of us do!”

****

“And I was fine when I stole the scraps yesterday…”

****

Yunho was just a few notches away from appalled as the chaos the boys in front of him had entered themselves into dawned on him. “What is going on?” His voice, still steady, was loud, and it shocked the five boys into looking up at him with wide eyes. Only Mingi, who hadn’t said a word in the whole ordeal, seemed to be largely unaffected. “You all seriously can’t tell me we’re fighting already. Guys, we’re barely surviving, these juvenile arguments can be put on hold, right?” Yunho dropped his head into his free hand and tried to rub at his temples. “Seonghwa-” Yunho paused when he spun to meet the boy and found him standing a fair amount of meters away, near what could be considered the entrance of their current residence.

****

Upon hearing Seonghwa’s name and seeing him lean uneasily against the brick wall of the alley, Yeosang bristled. He dropped his argument with the other boys instantly, settling on spitting out a venomous “What is  _ he  _ doing here?”

****

“Did he come back for us?” Came Wooyoung’s hesitant and hopeful question, one that provided a flawless contrast to Yeosang’s view on the older boy’s return.

****

“And this is exactly why I didn’t want to be here,” Seonghwa explained to Yunho, his anxiety levels spiking again. He could practically feel the daggers that were Yeosang’s glare stabbing into his side. “Yeosang hates me, and the feeling is mutual. I mean… I don’t know what I mean. I don’t know why I showed up here, even. I just… Minho told me to run, gave me the idea of going back to my dad’s place, but I couldn’t, not even just for a few hours, and I don’t even know if Minho is still alive right now-” Seonghwa searched Yunho’s face for a sense of comfort, but could only find confusion in the boy’s features. “I know he can’t be dead, or that he shouldn’t be, since he’s a Yellow like I am…” Seonghwa stopped dead in the middle of his sentence, paling. “Like I  _ was _ …” He corrected. “But after everything that’s happened- changing marks, Jongho killing people that weren’t Purple zeroes… I can’t be sure of anything. If my brother’s dead-” Seonghwa’s voice was devoid of any emotion when he stared Yunho directly in the eyes and said with utmost certainty, “I think I’d kill myself.”

****

“Fuck…” The hair on the back of Yunho’s neck rose up in what he could only describe as fear, a fear for Seonghwa’s life. “I… Are you talking about Lee Minh-”

****

“You care about someone other than yourself?” Yeosang asked rather maliciously as he started making his way over towards where Yunho and Seonghwa stood, secluded. He’d meant to say something like ‘I never knew you had a brother’, but the pent up resentment he felt for Seonghwa had won over any sensible sentence he could have made.

****

“You know nothing about me and who I care about, Blue, so I’d advise you to shut your damn mouth before I put you six feet under like you should’ve already done to yourself.” Seonghwa spat at Yeosang’s feet, dark eyes narrowing into thin slivers. “Minho risked everything to save me from any form of harm. He’s a good person like that. Not the kind to stand idly by and watch someone get raped, you know?”

****

“Fuck, Seonghwa, I’ve already told you that it was the best option!” Yeosang punctuated his mini outburst with a slight lunge towards the older boy, one that caused him to back up rapidly.

****

“The best option? What the fuck is that supposed to mean, you psycho?” Seonghwa’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Yow saw firsthand what he did to me… What could be worse than that?”

****

“He could have killed you. You don’t have Yellow stability anymore, no matter how hard you try to deny it.” Yeosang tried to ignore Yunho standing right next to him, but the look of a kicked puppy that had made its way to the boy’s face stopped Yeosang from saying anything else.

****

“How many times must I tell you I wish he  _ did  _ kill me before it sinks in for you, Yeosang?” Seonghwa shivered, the early morning chill sending goosebumps up his bare arms. “You’ll never get it, Blue. You’ll never know what it’s like.”

****

“First off, don’t call me Blue. I’m finally free from all the shameful stereotypes that damned mark forced on me. Second, really? You’re gonna sit here and more around, playing the martyr card, saying I’ll never know what the privilege and luxury of being a Yellow is like?”

****

“I never said that.” Seonghwa’s voice remained deadly calm, and it made Yeosang’s blood boil. Wasn’t the older going to look for a fight? “You’ll never know what it’s like to see the world through my eyes. You know nothing about me, nothing about what I’ve gone through in life. Shouldn’t your stint as a social justice warrior have told you that already? That you’ll never know the full extent of someone’s life, of their hardships?”

****

“I-” Yeosang’s face was flushed with the embarrassment that came from being unable to come up with a retort. Thankfully, Yunho intercepted the conversation.

****

“Both of you, quit it now.” Yunho demanded. “I don’t need even more of us falling apart and acting like toddlers. We should all have one common goal, reintegrating in society. We escaped, nobody’s hunted for us, w-”

****

“People came for me. That’s why Minho forced me to run.” Seonghwa looked up at Yunho, saw the fear flashing bright in his wide eyes. “We’re not safe, Yunho-yah. And I don’t know what Minho’s status is, ever since he made me leave our dorm… I can’t stomach even thinking that he might be gone. I can’t imagine what it’d be like for Ji… Oh, my god-” A smile, one that seemed giddy and bordered on manic, shone on Seonghwa’s face. In what seemed like an exaggerated shudder, he flung the drawstring bag off his back and practically tore it open, frantically digging inside until he pulled out a phone. “I forgot Minnie-yah gave me his phone… I can call Jisung, I… I can know he’s alive. He’s alive. He  _ has  _ to be.” Seonghwa’s fingers were shaking as he turned the phone on and slid to the emergency contacts menu. Jisung was first, his name encased on both sides with two orange hearts. They liked to say that orange was their color; a perfect blend of Red and Yellow. Seonghwa grinned at the fond memory of his best friends.

****

Yeosang’s face was still burning from his recent defeat in his latest tryst with Seonghwa, and although his anger wanted to spike, it couldn’t find anything substantial to latch on to. If anything, his emotions were all spun off balance, since Seonghwa, the too-good-for-anyone bad boy, as Yeosang had dubbed him, was actually showing emotions. Happiness. Giving a shit about someone that wasn’t himself. Yeosang’s memory thrust him into the dingy holding cell the eight boys had been forced into, and he recalled himself telling Seonghwa he believed there was more than the bitterness and the hatred and the narcissism. Now Yeosang could see it, plain as day and right in front of him. It was letting himself admit that there actually was more to Seonghwa than meets the eye that was tripping him up. He wanted to hate Seonghwa - he  _ could  _ and he very well  _ did  _ \- but he couldn’t hate this version of the black haired boy.

****

Seonghwa’s hands were shaking almost uncontrollably, but he still managed to hit all the necessary buttons to send a call through to Jisung. It rang for not five seconds before the call connected and a hesitant “Seonghwa-hyung?” came through the line.

****

“Jisungie-” Tears sprang to Seonghwa’s eyes, and he couldn’t be bothered to hide them. He did, however, walk farther away into the opposite end of the alley, leaving Yunho and Yeosang behind him. “Oh, my god, Jisung… I never thought I’d hear your voice again, I… I miss you so damn much… Have you seen Minho? Has he been able to contact y-”

****

“I’m okay, Seonghwa.” Hearing Minho’s voice through the line, hearing the confirmation that his brother was alive… Seonghwa dropped to his knees, bowing his head. He wasn’t religious in the slightest - would any God let Seonghwa suffer through all the hardships he’d been presented with? - but he couldn’t help but thank any and all higher powers that deigned to look down on him. “Where are you? I want to come find you, come get you. I’m with Dahyun right now, and obviously Jisung, too… We were talking, saying how even Chung Ang isn’t safe anymore. My parents are on board with hiding you until Dahyun’s mom takes care of what she can and the threat-” The unspoken name of  _ Void  _ was there, ever present. “-is fully gone. Where- Where are you right now?”

****

“Wait, hold on, Dahyun’s mom is involved? You got the literal police on this? Minho, how’d you manage to make that happen?” Seonghwa thought he was insane for a moment, delirious with fever or just plain out of his mind. “You’re really telling me that you bested one of V-” Seonghwa shuddered, unable to say his assaulter’s name. “-one of  _ his  _ men?”

****

Minho had to stifle his laughter, the kind that was pained, yet still a release. “I told you, I’m Lee fucking Minho. I had it all under control. Just… thought I was gonna die a few times… Now, seriously, back to the important stuff. Where. Are. You?”

****

“For starters, I’m with all the others. The seven other boys. We’re all in one area, a back alley of sorts. Like… You know when I showed you the route I ran away through? How I passed through the slums?” Seonghwa waited for Minho’s hum of acknowledgement. “We’re like right there. The American novelty toy shop is a block away from me, I passed it running. I… I don’t know how much time it’s been. All I know is that I’m tired. Exhausted, even…”

****

“I can only begin to imagine, Hwa…” Minho comforted, hoping the sincerity in his words could permeate through the phone. “When I come get you - and all the others; my parents will have to take them in, too; they’re not ones to deny a child in need - we’re gonna go back home. You can sleep in our old room. I’ll stay with you, even. We can be normal for just a few days. Like when we were little, and the biggest problem was me thinking Jiji didn’t like me back.”

****

Seonghwa could hear a giggle, distinctly female, from the other end of the call. Dahyun had hit Minho gently, a small “We’ll still never let you live down being so oblivious… Now hurry up with the phone call, I need to see my big brother right now. I needed to see him yesterday.”

****

“Alright, alright, Hyunnie’s rushing me. Stay put, okay? Right there, don’t move. I’ll track my phone to make sure I have the location right. I don’t know how much time it’ll take, so, um…”

****

“You’ve never been good at goodbyes, Minho…” Seonghwa noted, traces of a wistful smile on his face.

****

“This isn’t goodbye.” Minho stated. Seonghwa could practically see the boy and his serious gaze right in front of him. “It’s an I’ll be seeing you soon, so don’t do anything stupid and don’t get yourself killed. I mean it even more so now. And… I love you, dumbass.”

****

Seonghwa let out a half-hearted attempt at a laugh. It was nowhere close to the real thing, but the closest he’d gotten since the kidnapping. “I love you, too, dipshit.” And with the term of endearment, Seonghwa ended the call. He trusted Minho. He trusted Minho with everything he was. Minho was his go-to, his person whenever anything went awry. Turning back to the group, now all sitting together in a sort of deformed circle, Seonghwa felt a rush of confidence. Almost like he’d returned to being the Seonghwa he was before getting abducted. “My brother’s alive. Doing just fine. Thriving, even,” With a spiteful glance at Yeosang, he added, “That’s just what Yellows do.” Yeosang scoffed at that, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s coming to pick us up. We’ll be provided with shelter and food until the threats against our safety and our lives is gone. He’s saved us. All of us.” With another pointed look at the former Blue, Seonghwa continued. “You’re not the only one who can get us out of a shitty situation, Kang.”

****

“Well what are we supposed to do until your knights in a shining Chevrolet show up?” Yeosang berated, not willing to express his gratitude and relief that they wouldn’t all have to fend for themselves for only God knew how long.

****

“Maybe we can get to know each other?” Wooyoung offered a small contribution, the corners of his mouth tipping up in slightly awkward hope. “Y’know, we really don’t know anything about each other. Yunho dances, so do I, Hongjoong-hyung does music with Mingi, San and Jongho sing, Yeosang does photography, Seonghwa… Uhm…” Wooyoung flushed at not having anything to say about their newest arrival, but he pressed on. “See! Perfect reason as to why we should all take our limited time to learn a few things about the people we share our abnormality with.”

****

“How more cliche could you get, Wooyoung?” San asked, rolling his eyes involuntarily. “This isn’t an action movie. This is real life, and it sucks ass. There’s no cool theme song for us coming in right now. There’s the sound of retching birds and broken down cars. And what good will it do to know each other when we’ll die off sooner than we’ve planned?  _ Hey, nice to meet you, my favorite color is-- oh shit I’ve just been gunned down. I’m dead. _ Is that what we’re supposed to do?”

****

“Choi San,” Wooyoung’s voice had lost its bit of lightness. “What we’ve learned from you so far is that you’re a sarcastic hot-head. Do you have any fun facts?”

****

San’s ears burned, and the boy could feel a fire start to bubble up in his chest. Hot-head? He’d show Wooyoung… Except, no, because look at him. Jung Wooyoung, short and starved skinny, heart-shaped smile big enough to mellow even the sharpest of flames. “I collect plushies.” He mumbled, the fire spreading to a blush on his cheeks when Wooyoung gave him a huge grin and flashed him a thumbs-up.

****

“That’s actually really cute…” Wooyoung looked around at the others, and slowly watched them nod in agreement. “Who’s next in our lovely little Social Outcast Bonding Session?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is san subtly breaking the fourth wall? you tell me guifdsgfjadshifhaj
> 
> anyway, we got a little more development this chapter, especially in the YunJoong end! im also psyched that our lovely secondary character Minho got his moment to shine!! as it can be expected, the golden trio of MinSungHyun will be coming back in the near future! i'd also like to take a moment and sincerely thank all of you still reading, because wow, you stuck with me through a whole summer's hiatus. I'm hoping and praying to post chapter eight before I start school, but I don't know how likely that is...
> 
> Have a great day/night, ATINY!! Never give up on your dreams!  
> xoxo, Lyss <3

**Author's Note:**

> ayyyyyyye I'm actually pretty happy with how this chapter came out! It's my first time publishing/writing a slow burn, so I hope I can give the trope justice. Feedback is always appreciated, and because this fic is also everyone/everyone, if there are any pairings you wanna see, just let me know! Thank you all for reading, and I hope with all that I am you'll stick around to see how this story progresses.
> 
> Have a wonderful day/night, atiny!!


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